


Clarity, Reason, and Shape

by agenthill



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Polyamory, it's more of an extended metaphor which i then... built into the universe, well of a sort... it doesn't change much of anything but i wanted to do some sort of au damn it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine learn to love, to grow, and to accept--together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ending 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [euonymy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/euonymy/gifts).



> This story has two endings, and this chapter is the happy ending. The two endings do not diverge until section XIII.iii, but the experience of reading the two is, I imagine, quite different. If you like happy endings, thank my friends [Sam](http://leliaana.tumblr.com/) and [Jenny](http://lesbianempresses.tumblr.com/), in particular. If you, like me, enjoy something sad now and again, don't thank anyone, switch chapters.
> 
> This fic is for the lovely [Kelli](http://anachronizomai.tumblr.com/), who just wanted some Cass/Leli/Josie, or any da femslash, really, and never asked for anything quite this long or involved.
> 
> Within the next few hours I'll upload my expanded notes to my [tumblr](http://cassjosie.tumblr.com/tagged/rory+writes/) under the heading for this fic, and although I have my fingers in many metaphorical pies right now with no less than seven wips halfway done, I'm always open to prompts/suggestions/conversation.
> 
> This sort-of AU is of my own making, and I think I've done a fair job of establishing exactly what's going on in the first section, but if you have any questions, just shoot me an ask (or comment when you're done).
> 
> Until then... enjoy.

Nulla.

            It is known that all are born with a set number of words, never to be exceeded in their lifetime.  While discerning the totality of words has proven impossible, upon first speaking to another a sense can be gained of the duration of the dialogue between the two parties, and through many relationships one may ascertain a great deal about how much longer one might expect to live.  An abundance of words is generally taken to mean that one shall live a long life, a dearth an indicator of premature death.  Such is not always the case, but exceptions are few enough and far enough between that such a myth has been enduring, and enshrined as fact among the general populace.

            At such a time as one names a child, they may have a sense of the number of words their child will have in their lifetime, although the character of those words remains unknown to all but their future speaker.  Many pray most fervently upon finding the number of their child's words to be lacking in number, fervently.  While Andraste spoke not of such a situation, and no prayer exists within The Chant, there are among every people in Thedas folk prayers and blessings that one may say in such a scenario.  In Antiva, one prays that there has been a mistake, that the tabulation of the child's words have gone awry, in Orlais, one prays for more, more, more, that something extra be granted, and in Ferelden one prays their child finds purpose wordlessly, that they learn to hold their tongue.  But in Nevarra, one does not seek to cheat fate.  Death is inevitable, be it at one word or one million words, and there is no cheating it.  Knowing this, Nevarrans pray for no reprieve from fate.  Instead, a prayer is said for a tradeoff, that the child take the words of the mother and father.  Come time, all shall die; it is no great sacrifice that the parent give a few years to the child.  No less fervent are the prayers of other nations, but there is a weight to such Nevarran prayer that exists not otherwise.

            Of such a nature are the prayers made by Matthias and Tigana Pentaghast upon the birth of their daughter.  As Tigana holds the child, and bequeaths upon her a name, she finds that she can feel the weight of their conversation, and finds it lacking.  A woman of many words herself, in turns feather light and somber as one expects of Nevarrans, this development troubles her greatly.  Her husband may himself speak few words, but Tigana's craft requires that she be of sharp mind and sharper tongue.  Desperately she had prayed for this child, a girl to share her passions and to match her ambition, Matthias had his son it was only fair that The Maker grant her a daughter in turn.  So she shall pray again, this time not for the birth of her daughter but for the life.

            Across Thedas, and not terribly long after Tigana's vision is realized at the expense of herself and her husband, another child is born.  Weak from her labor and delirious from pain, Oisine holds in her arms her first and only child, and finds she has no name to give.  Instead, the infant is brought to the Lady Cecilie Vasseur, and is by her given the name Leliana.  For reasons entirely her own, Oisine does not ask about her daughter's words, and Lady Cecilie in turn offers no information.  In speaking of life, Leliana will later say, one naturally invites the discussion of death.  To do so at a birth could not be more inauspicious.  Regardless of motivation, the women decide that some doors are best left closed, and questions left unasked.

            Across the sea, in the Montilyet household, little is left unsaid, let alone unasked.  When the house's newest scion is born, a small girl with hair which is already thick and a mole on her chin, Yves Montilyet proudly introduces to the world his daughter, Josephine Cherette.  Immediately he is asked by his wife the number of their daughters words, and he laughs as he pronounces that he doubts if she will ever stop talking.  Small Josephine chooses this as the moment which she shall, for the first time, cry.  Yves laughs, and does not stop laughing until the birth of his second daughter, upon whose naming he proclaims, somewhat bemused by the development, that some manner of plugging his ears must be produced, for this child will surely speak even more.

 

I.

            i.

            Cassandra pays little attention to what words she feels between herself and others, for she feels similarly with everyone.  Perhaps, she thinks, her words are broken.  Perhaps it is a defect uniquely her own.  With everyone whom she speaks—her brother, her uncle, the sister in the Necropolis' Chantry—there are few enough words.  For her, all language is thick and heavy, choking her like the incense Vestalus burns at rituals, like the thud, soft but firm, as the slab of marble is lain across the tomb.  As tools go, Cassandra finds words to be flawed.  She is clumsy with them, with their heaviness.  Her tongue goes thick as she speaks, such that she has little to say even to Anthony, whom she loves, whom she will see for many years to come.  At times though, her voice comes through clearly, ringing like the bells of the Chantry, when she speaks to her brother during sparring or when she raises her voice in prayer.  This, she thinks, is how things ought to be, words sliding easily from off of her tongue, easily as blood flows through her veins.

            She is not so much older when she realizes that she was wrong, that there was a reason words came to her only with great difficulty among all those whom she knew.  When Anthony dies, she has little enough left to say to Vestalus, who blames the affair on carelessness.  Little has she to say to the people who visit the Grand Necropolis either, nor to her tutors, for she does not belong here.  She has to leave, get out of the suffocating Necropolis with its stale air, she cannot breathe here, needs to be free, free where air flows cleanly through her lungs like the words of The Chant from her mouth.  Either she leaves now, finds a purpose outside of the Necropolis, or she shall surely die here.

            ii.

            To little Leliana, words come as easily as song to birds.  Her words are most often like the smell of citrus when she stands in the orange gardens with her mother, sharp and clear, quick and fresh.  Lady Cecilie brings her into the parlor sometimes, just to speak to the guests, charming them each in turn.  Conversation between them is always facile, in both senses of the term, and as with everyone she meets, Leliana shares many words with the Lady's guests.  None, however, share so many words with her as her mother, with whom conversation seems endless, effortless.

            Until, that is, her mother contracts a fever.  First it is Leliana who is stricken, confined to bed and delirious, but the bond of the words between them remains strong as ever, and so even as her mother kneels at her bedside, praying for her life, Leliana never loses faith that The Maker will see her safely through to the other side.  Day by day, bolstered by her utter conviction that she shall live, Leliana's health improves. 

            Occupied as she is with prayer and with her duties about the house, Oisine does not speak to her daughter for several days in her confinement, and so it is that neither notices that the words between them have become honey thick.  In the few conversations they have, Leliana is weak, and Oisine's voice hoarse, so it is unremarkable to either that their words are few.  Not until Oisine collapses does Leliana realizes that the words on her tongue, though no less sweet, sit heavy on her tongue, and do not so easily burst forth as once they did.  Indeed, she and her mother can hardly speak at all to one another.  For the first time, she is afraid.  Not only for her mother, whom she now knows must certainly die, but also for herself.  While she had always believed her abundance words a guarantee, a promise of her longevity, she now sees that this may not be so.  From this point forward she takes honey in her tea, a reminder of how nothing in her life is guaranteed.

            iii.

            Josephine's words flash and glimmer like the light upon the waves, tumbling forth from her tongue like so many rivers flowing to the sea.  Although she is young yet, she knows well enough that her words shall not always be so.  Having spent countless hours speaking to her grandmother, about politics, about business, about the future, Josephine is well aware of how the nature of her speech changes, grows solid, nearly tangible, when speaking of such things.  When she needs them to be, her words have weight, are heavy as the oak used to make the keel of the great galleons which do trade in the Rialto Bay, but maintain the flexibility of the pine requisite for building a hull.  She does not feel strong, not often, not like her cousins who tussle in the grass during family picnics, not like her father as he sits tall astride a horse, but her words, they are strong, and she hopes that with time they can be enough for her.

            Such has always been the case with her grandmother, who has handled the family's affairs for decades.  Even now, old, frail, and bedridden, her voice gives her enough presence to command a room, lends her enough strength to settle trade disputes, to placate the implacable.  Josephine thinks that, when she is grown, she would very much like to do so as well.

            When at last her grandmother's words begin to falter, when the pauses in their conversation grow long, it is all the harder for Josephine to watch.  Words, the source of her strength which Josephine has so long admired, come slowly now, and her grandmother seems to shrink with each passing phrase.  Day by day, she is diminished, and Josephine wonders if this is to be her fate.  It is not such a bad thing to die surrounded by one's family, and to know it is coming, but Josephine does not wish for herself the gradual loss of her voice, of her power.  For the first time, she wishes for something more, beyond what is expected of her as head of the family.

 

II.

            i.

            The Divine is dying.  She and Cassandra have both known this for some time, are close enough that they can sense the change in their speech.  Words have ever been a struggle for Cassandra, but she struggled to even join Divine Beatrix in evening prayer.  Now, in the pre-dawn, alone in the Grand Cathedral, she tries again, feels the weight on her chest lift and the tightness in her throat dissipate.  Clear as it ever has been, The Chant springs forth from her lips, and it should be comforting, to hear the words rise so crisp and bright, but all she can think is that this means that the Divine is not long for this world, and that she will stay, will survive to see another woman take her place.  Could a new Divine be so worthy?  Would a new Divine say that her place is here?

            Never before has Cassandra been a party to this, the gradual decline in conversation that occurs between two people prior to the death of the one.  She has heard of it, as everyone does, knew it would happen to her one day, accepted that, but to feel it for herself is an entirely different prospect.  To know that she will outlive someone that she, in one sense of the word, loves, is not something that she has any experience with, and she feels helpless.  For all that she might rail against the inevitable, there is nothing she can do.  She is powerless to stop time, to save Beatrix, and, selfishly, she feels sorry for herself that she feels this way.

            All else, Cassandra can shoulder, all else can she suffer without a word, but helplessness, helplessness is something entirely different.  She hopes she never feels this way about someone with whom she is in love.  It would break her.

            ii.

            Leliana is dying.  She feels it in all she does, the staleness in the air, the thinness of the words between her and Marjolaine, the erosion of all dialogue between herself and the others in the court.  Such is hardly unexpected, for the lifespan of bards as successful and notorious as she is not terribly long.  There can be no retirement plan for a bard, one makes entirely too many enemies to ever settle down.  Leliana knows this, has known this all along, and she thought she had accepted it, that the thrill of The Game was worth dying for, that Marjolaine was worth dying for, but in truth, she is not ready yet to die.

            So she fights it, fights fate, runs as far and as fast as she can, runs until there is no air left in her lungs with which she might speak, no strength with which to cry out, no words left to speak.

            But when she has nothing left to say, a voice comes to her, speaks for her, speaks of what she must do to survive this, what good she may yet do, of life itself, and there are between them so many words.  So she fights yet again, to escape the Arl's estate, to find freedom, to fulfill her purpose. 

            The voice is not of the Maker, but of one who speaks for him, Revered Mother Dorothea.  Still, in Leliana's eyes they may as well have come from the Maker himself.  In her darkest hour, she was saved, was brought into the light, and between she and Dorothea words are the scent of citrus in the morning, sweet but not overly so, not oppressively heavy as the honey that dripped from her tongue with Marjolaine.

            Here, she has purpose, has meaning enough that she can begin, now, to forgive herself and to heal.

            iii.

            No one is dying.  Not if Josephine can help it.  She and all of her friends will yet survive this venture, their regrettable decision to become bards will not mean that they shall not survive to become the heads of families that they were raised to be.  While the others revel in violence, Josephine goes to the greatest of lengths to avoid it.  All that she is asked to do can be done just by speaking, and so speak she does.  Between herself and the members of the court with whom she interacts, she shares a preponderance of words, and does not worry that she is wasting them in an attempt to avoid bloodshed.  Perhaps this is a luxury afforded to her and only her because she has so many words, as Niccolo suggests, but privately she thinks to herself that she would do so even if she did not have half so many words as she does.

            And why is Niccolo complaining, anyway?  His violence, his utter lack of hesitance when it comes to striking the killing blow, has seen him rise in the ranks far faster than any other of their companions.  With his most recent promotion, she felt the words between them shrink almost to non-existence.  He has not the time for them, any longer, his one-time companions are now beneath him.  Oh, he still comes to the soirees they invite him to, but it is only a matter of time, she can feel it.

            Never has Josephine understood the instinct for violence, but when a knife flashes in darkness her hands move faster than her tongue.  As the body tumbles down the stairs, too quick for her to catch but slowly enough that she notices every grotesque detail of the fall, the crunch of bones and the angle at which an arm bends, the whites of terrified eyes behind a mask, she finds but a single word, a simple no.

            Niccolo lies dead at the bottom of the stairs, their relationship ended not by his pride, not by his ambition, nor by his violence, but by her own.

 

III.

            i.

            Leliana's arrival precedes that of the new Divine, Justinia V, and Cassandra is immediately suspicious of her.  Divine Beatrix had been nearly as straightforward as Cassandra, had seen little reason to employ the services of a Left Hand, but Cassandra still knows what one is, and imagine she knows what Leliana's purpose in meeting her is.  This stranger, moving with the grace of an assassin but the self-righteousness of the worst of the Templar order, will decide her fate, will judge her worthiness to serve the Most Holy.  For this reason, Cassandra takes an instant dislike to Leliana.  What need has the Chantry for such things, she wants to ask, but decides, for once, to hold her tongue, to save her harsh words for later, when Leliana asks that she leave.

            Instead, her first words to Leliana are a somewhat terse greeting, a welcome through clenched teeth.  But despite her tone, the words from her mouth feel as beautiful as any words she has ever spoken, come more readily than any before them.  They cut through her grief, through her usual reticence, and she feels, for the first time, not a tool of the Maker, of the Divine's will, but something more.  It is curious, and rather than being pleased Cassandra is even more skeptical of Leliana than she had been before.  How this has been accomplished, Cassandra knows not, nor is she entirely certain she wants to.  Leliana, she is certain, will be trouble.

            Cassandra has heard tell of reactions to another being like this before, but she is certain that the situations are different, for she and Leliana do not love one another, they cannot.  For Leliana is a woman, and Cassandra is not possessed of such inclinations.  Moreover, Leliana relies on subtlety and subterfuge, which Cassandra is without and frowns upon.

            Perhaps they are a different kind of match, destined to work well together.  Surely that is the case.  It explains why Leliana gives her a glowing recommendation to Justinia V.

            ii.

            Words are one of many tools among Leliana's repertoire, and she wields them as the weapons they are.  She hesitates not when striking, in word or deed, and as such she shares a great many of them with the denizens of the court.  It is not so surprising, then, that such would be the case between herself and one Josephine Montilyet, Antivan Ambassador to Orlais.  But, as Leliana has been studiously ignoring for the years the two of them have known one another, the quality of words shared between them is noticeably different from those she shares with other people.

            With Josephine, there exists nothing of the honeyed sweetness she experiences when speaking with other players of the Game, only purest citrus, and Leliana wonders how anyone so situated in Orlesian political life can be so pure.  Conversations between the two of them are as beautiful as any she has ever had, and she feels free to speak with a depth of emotion that she usually saves for within the Grand Cathedral, with Cassandra or with Justinia V herself.  The way Josephine speaks to her, as if she is someone who is good and worth spending time with even outside of political expedience, outside of her work within the Chantry, outside of some deeper purpose, makes Leliana wish she could be something more, something better.  Someone a person like Josephine could love.

            But she is not that person, could never be.  Even in her work for the Most Holy, Leliana is a killer before she is anything else, useful because she will not hesitate to destroy.   Leliana doubts that Josephine has ever so much as raised a hand to another.  Josephine is good and gentle and a thousand other things Leliana is not.

            So Leliana will content herself with what they have, will not risk sullying Josephine by association.  They can remain friends, and nothing need change.

            iii.

            When Josephine first sees Cassandra, neither of them says a word to one another.  How could they, separated by such distance as they are?  It is Divine Justinia the Fifth's ascension, and Josephine is but a distant face in the crowd, while Cassandra is at the side of the new Divine.  Only because she has heard so many tales of the Hero of Orlais does Josephine remember the moment, remember thinking that she is just as beautiful as the stories said, if not more so.  Little more does she think of it at the time, however, for she and Cassandra move in such different circles that she doubts if she will ever have the chance to actually meet the woman.

            Everything changes, for Josephine, the second time she sees Cassandra, the first time words are exchanged between them.

            It is high noon in Val Royeaux, and though the city may be further South than Josephine's own home, something in the way that people feel compelled to pack in together, so unlike sprawling Antiva City, makes the heat near unbearable.  To stay inside, Josephine finds, is even worse—no amount of opened windows save one from the oppressive feeling of still, hot air.  On days such as this she goes to the docks, and imagines she is back home with her family, listening to the waves.  Usually, at this hour, she is alone (or relatively so), but today there sits another woman further down the docks, book in hand.  Cassandra Pentaghast.

            Surprised to see the woman whose heroism and bravery she heard tales of as a girl, Josephine does not approach.  She says nothing at all in the entire time that Cassandra is there, and makes a concentrated effort to not so much as look in Cassandra's direction, lest she be caught staring.

            It is not until Cassandra is leaving that she says anything, noticing the whetstone that had fallen beside where Cassandra sat.  She cries out for Cassandra to wait, but goes unheard, and finds herself unable to pursue as she is struck still and silent by the sheer number of words she and Cassandra will share, bright as the sun beating down upon them.

            Josephine keeps the whetstone, thinking to return it when they meet again.

 

IV.

            i.

            When the Conclave explodes, Cassandra is staggered.  She is not near enough to the blast to be knocked back by the explosion itself, but she feels all at once so many conversations cut short—Most Holy's, Regalyan's, those which she shared with her comrades in arms.  All at once, and it is too much, she finds herself falling back where she stands.  By the time she speaks with Leliana when she ventures outside, sees the great hole in the sky glowing a sickly green, hears from a scout what had happened, Cassandra already knows.  She is hurt, perhaps more deeply than she has been since Anthony's death, her faith in the Maker is shaken, her world tilted on its axis, but above all else, she is relieved to hear Leliana's voice, relieved that words flow between them as easily as they ever have.  Now, more than ever, this is important.  Before, they have had to rely on one another for missions, but now, when she most needs support, Cassandra has no one else.

            Having Leliana to lean on, at the end of another long day, is often the only thing that keeps Cassandra going and she struggles to keep peace between mages and Templars in the camp, struggles to rebuild the world as she knows it, struggles to find words to express the future she sees.  Through the years, Leliana has become the most important person in Cassandra's life, and she is not sure how she did not see such before now.  It scares her, to rely on someone else.

            What scares her more, however, is the introduction of the Ambassador.

            Josephine is beautiful, and clever, and as easy to speak to as Leliana herself.  Cassandra does not say as much, but she is deeply afraid that Leliana feels for Josephine what Cassandra feels for her.  Worst of all, Cassandra would have to admit that they are well matched, that Josephine grants Leliana a reprieve from the grimness of her days, and Leliana can protect Josephine in a world far too harsh for one as gentle as she.  It is to Josephine that Leliana seems to speak, when she is troubled.

            From this, Cassandra realizes three things.  First, that she loves Leliana.  Second, that she is in love with Leliana.  Third, that Leliana is in love with one Josephine Montilyet.

            ii.

            A specter of uncertainty haunts Leliana's thoughts, has done so since the explosion of the Conclave.  Without Divine Justinia to give her purpose, to point her in the right direction, Leliana is not sure who she is any longer.  For so long, she has constructed her identity externally, following the will of the Divine, or of the Maker, and not stopping to question her own actions.  Who is she without someone to tell her where to go, whom to kill?  Can she trust her own moral decisions?  Should she have trusted the moral decisions of others as blindly as she did?

            Already, Cassandra is grappling with her own faith, has confided as much in her privately.  It would not do to burden Cassandra further by confessing to her own concerns, and so she turns instead to Josephine.  Josephine who is an innocent, perhaps not in totality but enough so that next to her Leliana cannot help but feel sullied, Josephine who is kind, and compassionate, and will listen for hours without making one feel as if they are overburdening her, Josephine whose goodness is such that Leliana draws ever nearer to her in the hopes that she, to, can become more so by association.  But Leliana worries that the reverse must also be true, that in sharing time with her Josephine drags herself down into the muck with everyone else.  By believing in Leliana, and by being so good to her, Josephine drives her away. 

            This is too much, too fast, and Leliana has distanced herself from others for a reason.  She stops speaking to Josephine of such things, pretends they do not trouble her any longer.  It is not true, and she knows that Josephine knows it, but this is the best she can do to protect one of the last precious things in her life, to not despoil something pure.

            One night, when she believes all others are asleep, she returns to the chapel—wonders when entering a holy place began to feel like sneaking in—and speaks to the statue of Andraste, speaks of the rose she once saw in a garden, how beautiful it was, how unmarred by the world it had come into, how she longed to pluck it from the stem but knew that to do so would kill it.  She prays for strength to do what must be done, prays for the resolution of her uncertainty, prays for the rose which blooms in wartime.

            She cannot pluck the rose, but oh, it is beautiful to look at.

            iii.

            Leliana regrets asking her to join the fledgling Inquisition, Josephine knows.  Perhaps the pragmatic part of Leliana, the part which has for years killed for the greater good, does not regret, but some part of her must, for she drifts further and further away.  Nothing Josephine says to her seems to sway her mind.  Long has Josephine admired Leliana's courage, having not had occasion to be at odds with it, so she knows well that there is little enough she can do now to change Leliana's mind.  She only prays Leliana finds her way back, or to someone else, before she allows her own demons to consume her.

            Being perhaps not as strong in her faith as many others, Josephine never quite leaves anything to chance, however.  Even at times when it is clear there is nothing left for her to do, she remains watchful, hoping for new opportunities to arise.  Such a habit makes her an excellent politician, and while it does sometimes lead to her overthinking interpersonal situations, a tendency to examine all situations for potential opportunities and threats does mean she rarely misses anything of import.  Now is such a time.

            Having finished her work for the evening earlier than usual, she crosses the hall of the Chantry building to the room which she shares with Leliana and Cassandra, only to pause at the door as she hears them conversing.  To eavesdrop would be uncouth, but Josephine does have a vested interest in learning what it is her fellow War Council members discuss when not in the War Room itself, and this is a rare case in which she cannot rely upon Leliana to give her accurate information.  So she listens, and waits.  It is late enough that the chance of someone passing by and questioning her presence is unlikely, and should it happen she can wave away any questions under pretense of not wishing to interrupt the conversation.  

            Josephine hears as Cassandra confides in Leliana, speaks of frustrations and triumphs, and the struggle to reimagine the future.  When she knows enough (possibly more than) she steps away, and leaves the two their privacy.  What needs to be done is clear to her.

            If she is to save Leliana, or convince Leliana to save herself, Josephine cannot do so alone.  With Cassandra as an ally, however, Josephine is certain that she can turn Leliana back to the light.

 

V.

            i.

            Having resolved the question of with whom to ally and closed numerous rifts throughout the Hinterlands, Fallow Mire, and Storm Coast, Cassandra cannot be said to be in any way disappointed with the Inquisition's progress.  On a personal level, however, she finds herself to be quite frustrated. 

            Some months earlier, Josephine had come to her with a proposition, namely that the two of them ought to work together in order to help Leliana cope with the results of the Conclave.  She was wrong, apparently, about the nature of Josephine and Leliana's relationship (but not, she thinks, about their feelings), and Josephine, too, is frustrated by Leliana's silence.  Such is common ground enough for them, and they begin to work towards a common goal. 

            In the ensuing days, weeks, months, they make precious little progress; Leliana seems no closer to allowing herself to rely upon others, allowing herself to feel weakness.  Their venture is a failure in every aspect but one.

            In conspiring to help Leliana, their own conversations now venture outside of the professional.  When they were merely colleagues, it was easy enough for Cassandra to dismiss the nature of speaking with Josephine as a byproduct of her profession, for a diplomat must be amicable, but now there is no denying that the connection between them is different.  The quality of her words, when she speaks with Josephine of the weather (dreadful), the food (bland), the recruits (inept), is not unlike when she speaks with Leliana, is consistently pleasant despite the genuine unpleasantness of the topic.  Generally, such a quality of speech is attributed to love, but of what kind?  Those who are very dear friends may speak as easily as lovers, as may mentors and members of one's family, so the relationship behind such conversation can be difficult to resolve.  Abstractly, Cassandra is aware that one is meant to listen to the heart in such cases, but her love of romance does not mean that she is what anyone might describe as in touch with her feelings.  She feels, and strongly, but the act of naming her emotions, putting to words the abstract, is not something Cassandra is comfortable with, or confident in her ability to do.

            She and Josephine have become close, this much Cassandra knows, have become precious to one another, and she hopes ardently that nothing will happen to come between them.

            ii.

            The closing of the Breach is an unmitigated disaster—or what happens in the aftermath is.  Haven is destroyed, the one person with the power to close rifts is nearly lost to them forever, many of her agents have died, and it is her fault in the entire.  Normally she is quick to strike, does not hesitate to do what is necessary in order to achieve her goals, but this time she hesitated.  She was afraid of losing a few agents, so she hesitated, and now she has lost many.  She has failed them, and, by the curious mechanism through which one's actions may become one's person, is herself a failure.  For how long has she flawlessly played the Game, for how long has she successfully balanced action and in action, only to choke now, when the stakes are highest?  Weakness, that which she has always found deplorable in others, has wormed its way into her and she finds she is, for the first time, repulsed by herself, by her failures, by what she is becoming.

            It is late at night when Josephine and Cassandra find her, in a tent on the edge of camp (a strategic decision on her part, to assess the comings and goings of others, to identify traitors, not to hide herself away).  Ostensibly, they have come there because Josephine is having trouble sleeping given what they witnessed in the days before, but this is a lie.  Since her days as a bard, Josephine has dreamed of death, but she has never needed Leliana's help to cope with them, has never admitted to them save in passing—and in daylight.  Even were this the case (and perhaps Josephine is a bit paler than normal, an unhealthy tinge to her skin in the firelight), Cassandra's time with apprentices has taught her much about dealing with those new to bloodshed, and she could have dealt with the problem without seeking another's help.  This, then, must be some ploy out of concern for her.

            Leliana tells herself it is foolish, that the other two need not worry over her, that she is above such emotional concerns, is in control.  Leliana tells herself she is humoring them as she takes a somewhat shaken Josephine into her arms.  Leliana tells herself that she deserves to bear her feelings in silence, and she almost believes it.

            Not until Cassandra wraps strong arms around her does Leliana realize that she, too, is crying.

            iii.

            Josephine frames it as a logistical issue.  There are three of them who at Haven shared a room, and they have since shared a tent on the journey to Skyhold.  Had they all their own bed, then that would be three bed spaces taken, but if they share one large bed, which would be used by at most two people in any other situation, then only two bed spaces are used.  Given the limited resources available in Skyhold at the present moment, and the fact that they slept in closer quarters for the past two weeks, this is the logical choice.  If having other people nearby makes it easier to sleep through the night, if it keeps Leliana from staying awake all night working, if it encourages Cassandra to go back to sleep when she wakes in the pre-dawn hour, then Josephine shall not complain.

            Her motives are entirely transparent, she is sure, but neither Cassandra nor Leliana complains, or even implies that perhaps she has additional reasons for this decision.  It seems that they agree, even if neither would say so outright, preferring not to acknowledge weaknesses in themselves.

            As for the rest of the Inner Circle, no questions are raised as to the arrangement, but Josephine does wonder briefly at what the others must think.  Do they know that there is but one bed between the three of them, or do they assume the arrangement to be as it was in Haven?  If they do know, do they care?  Is there an assumption, unspoken that something untoward may be happening?   Would Josephine mind if such a thing was believed?

            She realizes that she would not mind that mistaken assumption at all.  Perhaps it is improper, and she does abhor impropriety, but Josephine would rather be with Leliana and Cassandra and live with such accusations than be without them and in a proper role, as she so long has been.

            Or, some part of her suggests, perhaps she would like the rumors to be true.

 

VI.

            i.

            For all that Leliana and Josephine are the two people with whom Cassandra has been most easily able to speak in her life, she finds that having words is only half of the battle when it comes to communicating.  Much of her life, Cassandra has had few words with those whom she encountered, and has said so little that she fears, now, that she will not know how to say important things, not when it matters most to her.  Many of the more meaningful interactions between them of late, although not wordless, have been mostly communicated through gesture, through physical intimacy.

            Intimacy—that one word sums up all of Cassandra's problems within the relationship, if it can be called such.  Having been isolated, having isolated herself from the dialogue of love, Cassandra has little enough of a vocabulary of intimacy, much of her knowledge coming from florid tales and smutty literature.  Little enough does she know of confession, of vulnerability, of declarations outside of her work with the Seekers.  Deeply, she wishes to address how she feels, address the shift in emotions she has sensed between the three of them, but she knows not what to say.

            Instead, she fills the space between them with a thousand other words—troop movements, thoughts on the direction the Inquisition ought to be taking, and in more vulnerable hours, in when they rise at dawn, sometimes she lets slip something more personal, about  Anthony or her time as a Seeker, but only without realizing what it is she is saying.

            Is that the secret to communication, must one be unaware of the words one speaks until the telling is done?  If so, Cassandra will never achieve truly organic conversation, for she thinks too much, too deeply, about all which she says, rendering her speech stilted and awkward. 

            She hopes that one of the other two, who have always had enough words to say all that they will, shall broach the subject for her. 

            ii.

            Something is troubling Cassandra, Leliana is certain, for although the character of their speech has not changed (she has begun to believe, now, that it never shall, that no matter how wretched she becomes neither Cassandra nor Josephine shall ever fully be distanced from her), her countenance has.  Where before Cassandra was ever confident, back straight and head held high, now she seems diminished in some way, hesitating before she speaks and contradicting herself, words tripping over each other in a way they never do when she is relaxed, or in her element.

            This change began after Haven, and has only become more pronounced over time, and not for the first time Leliana wonders if this, too, is something for which she is at fault.  Already, the Conclave had done much to hurt Cassandra, had led her to question the maker, and now she has done this, has allowed to come to place another catastrophic loss of life.  It makes sense, then, that she might become more reserved as a result of such an event, might be hesitant to speak around Leliana, whom she no doubt blames on some level.

            It makes sense, but it is not the answer, for Cassandra is also increasingly reticent before Josephine, who can in no way be blamed for the events at Haven.  Leliana knows that Josephine and Cassandra have, themselves, a large number of words shared, Josephine has privately confided as much to her, so it seems likely that Cassandra has become more reserved around Josephine for the same reason as she has Leliana.  Knowing a correlation is not enough to discover causation, in and of itself, but this information is enough for Leliana to begin looking in the right direction, to question what between the three of them is shifting and might account for this change in Cassandra.

            When Leliana realizes, she does not act.  She and Josephine have long been casually intimate with one another, entirely without the pressure of being lovers.  Friendship is safer, for all of them.  Friends cannot break one's heart the way a lover can, she tell herself.  Friends cannot betray you.

            One such as she cannot be a lover.

            iii.

            Josephine knows why it is that Cassandra speaks more clumsily around her, and why it is that Leliana speaks not at all, if it can be avoided.  After all, it is Josephine's job to know such things.  Although it could be argued that such is Leliana's job, too, Leliana ultimately is not concerned with the emotions of those whose motives she parses in such a way that Josephine is.  To be a diplomat, one must know how another thinks, must always be able to gauge their feelings towards oneself.  It is not enough for a diplomat to rely upon words alone, their unique character in a conversation (which, she believes, reveals more about the speaker than the spoken to), their method of delivery (for one may lie as easily aloud as in pen, with sufficient practice), and certainly it is not enough to rely upon the content of the words (indeed what is not said is of equal or greater importance, in most situations).  More so than Leliana or, Maker forbid, Cassandra, Josephine is in touch with her emotions, and the emotions of others.  She knows what it is that Cassandra wishes to say, but cannot find words for, what Leliana could say, but is afraid to.

            If neither of the other two will speak, then she supposes it must be left to her.

            Speak she does.

            Not immediately, of course, for she knows better than to do so, and the better part of her job is the correct timing of questions and propositions.  Rather, she spends the better part of two months alluding, subtly, to the shift in their relationship, pushing the boundaries of friendship just slightly, enough so to be noticed but not remarked upon, until Cassandra and even Leliana are receptive to such advances.

            Then, she speaks.  Not as romantically as Cassandra might prefer, not a beautifully as Leliana might have put the words, but in as practical terms as she can manage.  First and foremost, she has always been a businesswoman, and the language of contracts and treaties, of words tangible and sturdy as wood, is comforting to her.

            There will be time enough for words that dance like light upon waves later.

 

VII.

            i.

            Love poetry is even more beautiful when Cassandra speaks it to someone with whom she is in love, just as the Chant was more beautiful when she began praying at Divine Beatrix's side.  Words between the three of them have not become easier, as they could not be so, but knowing the meaning behind the lightness, the feeling that things are as they should be, remains an immense relief.  There is much uncertainty in the world right now, and outside of their relationship Cassandra has few things in which she wholeheartedly believes anymore, her faith in the Chantry and the Seekers having been called into question.  At the end of a long journey, to know that there will be people waiting for her, without a doubt, is an immense comfort.  With Leliana and Josephine, Cassandra can forget, for a time, what she has seen, and think instead on what good exists in the world.

            After needling from various party members, but particularly Varric, it is nice to know that she is both wanted and accepted for whom she is.  A lifetime of being reminded that she is not in line with expectations for women, no matter how ridiculous she finds such an assignation of traits, does make it hard for her to believe, at times, that she can be loved as she is.  While she is never doubted that she is worthy of love, of acceptance, it is one thing to know what one deserves and quite another to believe that one will find it.  Often, she is overwhelmed, and even the easiness of words among them is not enough for her to properly express how she feels.  It was hard to explain, particularly to Josephine, the first time she felt such, but now that the others know, she is unafraid to be vulnerable in front of them, to admit how they have made her feel, and so deeply.

            Love is little like Cassandra imagined; it is so much better.

            ii.

            Being sincere is not an art Leliana has frequently practiced.  Certainly, she often tells the truth in the course of her work, but only carefully placed, in such a way that she can mold the behaviors of others, compel them to do as she wishes.  She is quite unused to telling the truth simply because she can, or because she wishes to.  To offer something of herself, without expecting anything in return, and without feeling her faith or duty compelling her, is not something she has done in a very long time, and she is not particularly good at it.

            Admissions are too easy, now that she has allowed herself to relax somewhat around Josephine and Cassandra, springing forth from her lips before she can thoroughly think through what it is she is saying.  A moment's thought could have told her how disturbing the comparison she chose between eyelashes and butterflies was, and although neither Cassandra (the subject of the compliment) nor Josephine (a mildly horrified witness) commented, she does wonder at how they still accept her.  She has seen and done horrific things, both on the orders of another and of her own volition, a fact which she has made both Josephine and Cassandra very much aware of, yet somehow they still accept her, still see something in her worth loving.  To hear them speak of her, it is almost enough for her to believe that she might be worthy of such after all.

            If someone with such concrete knowledge of right and wrong as Cassandra has, or one as pure as Josephine, can accept her for all her faults, why should Leliana continue to punish herself for her actions under the rule of Justinia?  Perhaps she is not as irredeemable as she thought, perhaps there is yet good in her.

            It will take time, and she has not the time she wishes to devote to it, but perhaps Leliana can learn to love herself after all.

            First, however, she will learn to censor her compliments.

            iii.

            Josephine does not think of herself as being the sort of person who has any particular hang-ups when it comes to accepting herself for whom she is, nor is she the sort of person who ever doubted that she would find someone who could love and accept her, and why should she?  As a reasonably successful person from a fairly functional family, never was she given any reason to doubt herself, or at least not one that she could easily name.  Still, it is hard to not develop some measure of insecurity when one finds oneself in a relationship with two people who are often regarded as living legends.  Surely anyone would wonder how they could be worthy of such.

            When she is with Leliana or Cassandra, everything feels right for Josephine, feels as it should be.  When speaking with them, Josephine need not worry about the potential political fallout of what it is she says, need not worry about the others deeming her problems insignificant in comparison to her own.  With Leliana, she can discuss serious frustrations over breaches of etiquette and treaties, knowing Leliana will understand—and care about—such matters, and with Cassandra she can poke fun at people with whom she is frustrated, can mock the workings of the court she most despises.  Neither judges her for this habit, and she finds it is most relaxing to be able to vent frustrations every now and again.  When she is with Leliana or Cassandra, there are no problems.

            Alone, however, Josephine sometimes feels as if her concerns are somewhat more trivial—if she makes a mistake, she can eventually negotiate her way out of it, but when Leliana makes an error, innocents die, when Cassandra slips up while out in the field, she runs the risk of dying.  Josephine does not feel that her work is unimportant, but that perhaps her individual actions do not bear the same weight and risk as those of her lovers.

            Such a feeling is new for Josephine, but she knows that both Leliana and Cassandra have dealt with similar, and she can learn to do so, as well.  Both of them are here to help her, should she need them, and perhaps it does have its upsides.  Already, she thinks she may understand Yvette a bit better.

 

VIII.

            i.

            That Daniel is dying is immediately apparent to Cassandra when she sees him, they need not say a word for her to be aware of his ill health.  His skin is a ghastly color, and the red of lyrium shines in his eyes—no, through them.  What few words they exchange are difficult, made more so by his poor condition and by a sudden tightness in her chest, her breastplate emblazoned with the logo of the Seekers all at once becoming much too heavy to bear.

            With Lord Seeker Lucius dead at her feet, she thinks that the breastplate ought to feel lighter, but still it is stifling, underneath it her skin is much too warm and when she breathes the air feels nearly stale, like she cannot get enough of it in her lungs, like choking on the incense at Chantry ceremonies, before she became used to the smell.  Speaking now would waste breath she does not have, so she says nothing.  Instead she rides back to Skyhold in silence, resistant to all attempts, no matter how persistent, annoying, or well-meaning, of Sera and Dorian to draw words out of her.  What more has she to say?

            Upon returning to the quarters she shares with Josephine and Leliana is remove her armor, as quickly as she can, tearing it from herself.  She does not place it on its rack but leaves it on the ground, face down, where she does not have to see the sigil, need not acknowledge her order.  Leliana's painting of Andraste she turns to face the corner, yanks Josephine's curtains over the window overlooking the garden, from which Her Lady's  statue can be seen, and finally, finally is free to breathe.  Fresh air fills her lungs as she controls her breaths, mountain air free of the stench of incense, lyrium, or blood.

            A chill washes over her as she speaks the word of the Chant, clears her mind and removes the heat and tightness from her chest.

            ii.

            Cassandra's uncharacteristic silence worries Leliana.  While Cassandra does not speak often, compared to many people Leliana has known, even when with Josephine or herself, Cassandra has a way of making herself known, even without words.  She groans loudly at poor jokes, laughs loudly at good ones, snorts loudly in derision when someone says something she finds particularly ridiculous, even, to Josephine's eternal frustration, chews loudly.  Now, however, when Leliana might have thought her most prone to outbursts, Cassandra is uncharacteristically silent.  Few things scare Leliana, but this does.

            Cassandra has every right to feel angry, to feel betrayed, to feel worry for the future, but instead she appears to feel nothing at all.  If she would only hit something, Leliana would feel better, would know she was attempting to cope with this somehow, but instead she is stubbornly unresponsive, only occasionally breaking from her obsessive reading of the book she recovered from Lucius Corin in order to pray. 

            In response to this behavior, Josephine suggests that this was perhaps a part of Cassandra's grieving process, but Leliana finds that she does not agree.  Cassandra could not be said to be grieving anything, as she is not so good at hiding her emotions as Josephine gives her credit for.  Rather, Cassandra is avoiding the problem altogether.

            Perhaps, with time, Cassandra might become more forthcoming with her emotions and deal with the issue on her own, but all evidence is to the contrary, and Leliana does enough waiting in the course of her duties.  So she snoops, reads the Book of Secrets, even knowing that she should not.  What she reads is troubling, even more so considering Cassandra's present actions.  To be made tranquil, and then to be cured, is a burden that Leliana cannot imagine.  She read the book in an attempt to compel Cassandra to speak, but now she finds that she herself has little enough to say.

            How can she broach the subject, when she herself is horrified, and finds that there are no words with which she can express such a depth of feeling?

            iii.

            Being excluded, either emotionally or in terms of shared knowledge, by Leliana and Cassandra stings.  Josephine knows that there is something that they know, which neither will broach.  If she knew, she thinks she could help, could restore communication between the three of them, but neither of the other two seems willing to speak about what it is that troubles them.  Were it just Cassandra, Josephine might understand, for she is grieving, but what excuse has Leliana?

            So she broaches the subject, one evening, about a month after Cassandra has returned from Caer Oswin, after the three of them have taken dinner together.  It seems senseless to keep avoiding the issue, and if she speaks to both of them at once she saves time, shall not have to repeat herself, and does not risk inadvertently leaving anyone out.  The solution is a good one, and quite logical, and as such it fails spectacularly.

            Well, Josephine supposes that she cannot count the reaction she gets as being entirely a failure, as both Cassandra and Leliana respond, and she learns what is going on, but she manages in the span of a minute, merely by remarking that she expected Cassandra to be angrier about things, to make Leliana go as still and quiet and profoundly sad as Josephine has ever seen, and to prompt a very resigned acknowledgement from Cassandra.  Probably, Josephine should not press further and allow the two of them to come to terms with what it is they seem to be dealing with on their own, but her job is to press people, and she does not resist the impulse to ask why.

            Josephine is glad she did not bring the issue up during dinner itself, for Cassandra speaks of being made tranquil, of the effects of the procedure on a person, of the fear she now holds that perhaps her righteous anger, her emotional volatility she has come to accept in herself as passion, is a result of what was done to her, and not something of her, at all. 

            While speaking, Cassandra chokes up, and although Josephine knows that they will have to work through this, together, she feels hope, because it is the first sign of an emotional response that Josephine has seen from her.

 

IX.

            i.

            Accepting what she can and cannot change has never been Cassandra's strong point, and so to accept that there is something about herself that cannot be bent by sheer force of her will is  difficult, to say the least.  Josephine is not much help, in this case, but has done more than enough for her in forcing her to confront the problem at all.  Now, Cassandra is following Leliana's advice that she focus on what she can change, and work to do so.  If she can reform the Seekers, if she can make the pain this has caused her matter, then maybe she can come to accept it, if not entirely get over it.

            In that regard, all is well as can be, but something in what Leliana said about accepting that which cannot be changed yet troubles Cassandra.  Josephine is ever attempting to convince Leliana to alter her behavior, to speak first and strike second, and while Cassandra has never entirely agreed with such an assessment, speaking first being the sole province of those with many words with which to speak in their lifetimes, she does see now that Leliana may be too accepting of her nature as a killer.  It is one thing to kill often because one has been attacked, or because there is no available avenue of speech for one, and it is quite another to order others be killed because one feels one has no other choice, because one has killed often enough that it does not matter if one hurts over it any longer.  When Cassandra brings such up, Leliana calls her a hypocrite, and is not entirely wrong, for Cassandra does perhaps strike too quickly, but has no retort when Cassandra argues that she does not regret the circumstances under which she has taken lives—unlike Leliana.

            Once who can speak so much as Leliana can has choice, to a degree that few others ever shall, and Cassandra hopes that Leliana will learn in time what an advantage she possesses.

            ii.

            When Leliana goes to Valence and is greeted by Sister Nathalie, the woman's fate is immediately apparent.  In years previous, when they have crossed paths, there has never been a shortage of words between them, but now they have nearly run out entirely.  This is not the first thing that alerts Leliana to Nathalie's suspicious behavior, but it does not hurt, certainly, and when Leliana listens to her words the picture painted by Nathalie's lies is immediately apparent.  She must kill Nathalie for this, and she shall, as soon as she finds what Divine Justinia sent her here for.

            When she opens the secret compartment, however, and reads the message contained therein, she hesitates.  If she is not compelled to strike by order of another, if Justinia regrets having made her into what she now is, then why must she?  Josephine would disapprove of her killing categorically, and Cassandra would urge her to speak first; what could it hurt her to try?  Nathalie has few enough words left with Leliana that she cannot say anything to hurt her now, for if she were to do so Leliana knows that she would speak with her again, before killing her.  So it is that Leliana hesitates, lowers her knife, and feels, for the first time, the number of words with which she shares with someone grow.  There is much between them now, so much that Leliana knows Nathalie will not soon betray her, for it seems they will be in contact in years to come.

            Before now, Leliana assumed that there was no reason not to strike, for her targets would never again encounter her and she did not want to waste her chance, but it seems that she was wrong.  Perhaps they were only so because she had already made up her mind, and she has had all along a choice in when or if she kills.

            Knowing that she can do this, can change fate, Leliana feels powerful, but she is afraid, too, of herself, of what she has become, of the fact that she never considered this scenario.

            iii.

            Leliana returns from Valence changed, and Josephine wonders what it shall mean.  In and of itself the change is not a bad one, has not damaged their relationship in any way, indeed nothing in the quality of the words between them has been altered whatsoever, but there is no question that Leliana has been, and profoundly so.  Following her own advice, and, Josephine is surprised to learn, Cassandra's, Leliana spared a woman's life, but she is not happy about it as Josephine had hoped she would be.  Instead, she seems deeply troubled.  Josephine is quite curious as to why, as it is unfathomable to her that sparing a life could be more taxing than taking one, but pushing Leliana never yields decent results, and so she must wait however long it takes for Leliana to volunteer the information on her own.

            As it turns out, Josephine need not wait long before Leliana comes to her—and she does not know if that is a good sign or something she should be concerned about.  After all, a quick decision on Leliana's part has often ended in bloodshed.  But in that regard at least, she need not worry, after all.

            Having spared Nathalie, Leliana is concerned about her role in the deaths of others, worries about the times she could have chosen differently, of what might have been.  A part of Josephine cannot help but think this is good, that regret for her actions is an improvement, shows that she is rethinking her violent tendencies, but a more selfish part of Josephine, one that she shall never admit to, knows that this will cause Leliana much heartache as she comes to terms with what she has done, and almost wishes that Leliana carry on as she was, if only so that Josephine would not have to see her hurting so.  She shall not give voice to such thoughts, as they would be highly counterproductive to her goals, but privately, she cannot help but think them.  In order to prevent herself to giving voice to such traitorous thoughts, she says nothing throughout Leliana's entire confession.

            To do so was a gambit, but it pays off.  By the end of speaking, Leliana has resolved herself to try harder in the future to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, to pray until the honey is removed from her words and only lightest citrus remains.

            Honey, thinks Josephine, for she had not known, before, how words were for Leliana, and she is grateful her own have no taste.

            She makes a note to ask the chef to avoid providing honeyed dishes in the coming weeks.

 

X.

            i.

            Helplessness, the one enemy that Cassandra has so long feared, at last appears in the form of a missive brought to Josephine.  A courier of hers has been killed, the result of her attempts to restore her family's trading status, what is more, Josephine refuses to be concerned about it, despite Cassandra's urging that she should worry, should have greater consideration for her safety.

            When Josephine goes to Val Royeaux for information and leaves her behind, Cassandra thinks she has never been so restless, so anxious, thinks that she cannot imagine a worse scenario.

            Upon Josephine's return, with the news of a contract on her life and her utter refusal to respond sensibly, to terminate the contract as Leliana has suggested, Cassandra remembers why it is that she has never considered herself to be particularly creative.  Of course things could have been worse, of course Josephine would utterly refuse to be sensible when her life is on the line, of course she would try to talk her way out of everything rather than permitting Cassandra and Leliana to do what it is they do best.  Anxiety such as this is not something Cassandra is used to dealing with, and she paces endlessly, cannot relax when Josephine is out of her sight, finds herself ever more short-tempered, but she does not attempt to sway Josephine, for she knows that in her own way, Josephine is as stubborn as she or Leliana.  Furthermore, there has been no change in Josephine's speech, so perhaps she need not worry at all, and therefore is even less likely to accept help from Cassandra, who resolves herself to sit idly by, as best as she is able. 

            Despite her good intentions, Cassandra has never been good at hiding her feelings, however, and three weeks into attempting to restore her family's trading status, calls Cassandra into her office.  Normally, Josephine prefers to deal with matters pertaining to their relationship in private, in neutral territory so that no one feels they are disadvantaged, and so the setting is all the more alarming for Cassandra—Josephine must be truly angry with her to have this conversation here.

            But when Josephine speaks, her voice is one of concern, not of anger.  Josephine empathizes with Cassandra's feelings of helplessness—of course she does, having been left in Skyhold time and again while Cassandra is out in the field, and Cassandra wonders why she did not consider such before—and offers to allow Cassandra to sit in with her on meetings, on the condition that Cassandra is quiet and does nothing to offend the guests, suggests that perhaps having Cassandra there will bring them both peace of mind.

            Being able to act lifts a great weight from Cassandra's shoulders.  To be responsible for the protection of a life is somehow more bearable than to sit idly by.

            When the assassin comes, she is ready.

            ii.

            Leliana cannot help but feel that they were lucky, that had Cassandra not been present Josephine would have died and that she is fortunate that Cassandra was present.  As much faith as Leliana has in the Maker, she prefers that things not be left to chance, be left to the will of Andraste whether or not Josephine lives.  Her agents failed her, and although Cassandra was with Josephine at the time, it was the result of Josephine indulging Cassandra's protective nature and not of Josephine showing an appropriate level of concern for her own safety.  Leliana knows that she should trust Josephine's judgement, and she does, truly, but it is one thing to know that Josephine can hold her own in a negotiation and quite another to relinquish control when assassins are at play.  Dealing with assassins is Leliana's purview, and it is one thing to respect Josephine's wishes and quite another to set aside an entire career of training.

            Pressing her advantage in the immediate aftermath of the assassination attempt, Leliana urges Josephine yet again to consider destroying the contract The House of Repose holds.  Despite the assassin who lays dead on the floor, despite the fact that she is visibly upset, and despite the fact that Cassandra, before leaving to tend to her wounds, also urged that she reconsider, Josephine is immovable.  As Josephine says that she will not be scared into betraying her ideals, Leliana realizes that she will need to take matters into her own hands.  The contract must be destroyed.

            Even as Leliana's mouth forms the words, however, she feels the change, has difficulty in producing her lip service acquiescence and bidding Josephine her leave.  Josephine's eyes grow wide and Leliana realizes that she must feel it, too.  But what does it mean?  The timing suggests that this is the result of Leliana's decision, a break in their relationship and not the result of Josephine's impending death, but the woman herself is completely unaware of such, must be so.

            Leliana could tell her, could say something, but instead she remains silent in the hope that Josephine yields, for then Leliana could proceed with her consent, could do the most expeditious and safe thing without forfeiting their relationship.

            For her part, Josephine says nothing.

            iii.

            The moment that she forfeits her life to her ideals, Josephine feels it.  Previously , nothing had changed in the conversation between herself and Leliana, but the instant Leliana at last acquiesces, agrees to go along with Josephine's diplomatic plan, they can hardly speak to one another.  In a world such as Thedas, where war and Blight claim countless lives, Josephine has always known there was some risk to her pacifistic stance, that her refusal to take up arms against another—or to do so by proxy—might end in her untimely death, but it is another thing to feel as it happened, to recognize the shift in her speech as she addresses Leliana.  It is terrifying, it is terrible, she knows not what she will say to Cassandra, for there is no need to tell Leliana, who has felt it just as she.  How she could explain her choice to her parents, or to Laurien who in particular has long criticized her for being unwilling to act logically in favor of ideals.

            In the instant she realizes, Josephine thinks of the impact this will have on those she loves, on her family, on the Inquisition as a whole, but never once considers changing course.  By this point, she has committed to a path, has been committed for a number of years, and she shall not change due to fear, no matter what it costs her.  Fear led her to kill, and she shall not be ruled by it again. 

            Feeling language close to her is strange however, that the strength of her voice as she binds a contract now traps her words inside of her, she has nothing left to say.  The loss of that by which she has defined herself, by which she has drawn her power, is profound, and she gets very little work done for the rest of the day.

            But come evening, something has changed, speaking to Cassandra she finds that she need not give the speech she has prepared.  The weight of her words has returned, and they are light and crisp as sea air.  She knows, then, that she will survive, that she has not erred in staying her course.

 

XI.

            i.

            From her scuffle with the assassin, Cassandra is told that she has received a minor concussion.  It is embarrassing for her, of course, to have been injured while fighting inside Skyhold of all places, but the House of Repose is a relatively formidable assassin's guild, and there is something dashing about being injured in the defense of a beautiful woman; she feels a bit like a character in one of her novels, a dashing knight who rescued a fair and gentle lady.  When she tries to say as much, Josephine seems to disapprove slightly, and Leliana's laugh is nearly patronizing, but perhaps this is because her concussion has made it a bit difficult for her to speak, jumbling her words more than she would like. 

            As a result of the concussion, both Josephine and Leliana seem reluctant to allow her back into the field.  Neither will outright argue with her on the issue, Josephine because she has never believed it is appropriate to attempt to directly argue with Cassandra or Leliana about their work decisions—she makes her decisions known, of course, but never outright attempts for forbid or outright stop them—and Leliana seems to have reconsidered her tack, rather than directly acting against Cassandra's decision she has chosen to outline precisely why it is she thinks going into the field at this moment is a bad idea.

            Still, when at the War Table the question of whom to send to face Corypheus is raised, Cassandra is adamant that she shall go.  She is needed there, is useful out in the field, knows that she has a purpose.  Too much time spent in Skyhold makes her restless, and although the business of the contract on Josephine's life has been resolved, Cassandra has yet to fully recover from the feeling of helplessness which had gripped her.

            If, perhaps, her words falter as she declares that she shall go, it is not to be used against her.  She is steady on her feet again, and that is what matters, her voice will follow.

            ii.

            Leliana is not overly fond of being introspective at the best of times, when she can rest assured in the validity of her actions, but her faith demands it over her, demands an accounting of herself and her actions, her motivations, and there is much, now, to be accounted for.  Always, she has thought of herself as truly dedicated to her ideals, but now she has reason to question such an assumption.  For all that she has done, it has ever been with the certainty that hers was the only way, the best way that another option would result in greater loss of life in the long run.  Instead, she is now learning of the real cost of her actions, learning that what she thought was set in stone was not so, and seeing Josephine resist the lethal option, even as she must have felt their words change, must have thought that she was dying, truly rattles Leliana.

            When Leliana withheld from Josephine the reason why their words were few—that Josephine would find a course of action Leliana had resolved herself to unforgivable should it be carried out—she had done so in the hope that Josephine would feel pressured by the feeling into thinking that she was dying, and acquiesce, allowing Leliana to take the option with less risk, ensuring that there would not even be a chance that something would happen to, but now Leliana is forced to confront the fact that even this did not move Josephine.  Ever has Josephine been principled, but to stand firm in the face of (what seems to be) certain death is something entirely otherwise, and Leliana tried to corrupt that.  Josephine would have hated her, would have hated herself, for it, yet Leliana tried to remove that choice.  

            Never has she felt more monstrous, less deserving of the love of the others, so Leliana avoids them.  Stays up in her tower during preparations for the final battle with Corypheus, uses how busy she is preparing as a pretense so that she has more time, time to take herself into accounting, time to reexamine the nature of her relationship, time to see if she can—or wants to—change in order to make their relationship a healthy one, or if she must end things now so that she does not hurt anyone more grievously later.  She wants them, wants this, desperately, but not at the cost of hurting Josephine or Cassandra, or losing herself.

            Time, that is all Leliana needs.  Time to consider their relationship, and time to consider herself.  When she is ready, then she will return to their shared quarters, either for a final time or content in the knowledge that she need not worry about being unworthy any longer.

            There is time enough for this, surely.

            iii.

            Josephine is alive.  Josephine is alive, and that is what bothers her.  Not the sentence itself, but the phrase which she now realizes follows: Josephine is alive—for now.  Long life, by virtue of the number of words she has with which to speak, is always something that she has taken for granted.  Even when she felt her lifespan diminish, Josephine found that she could not change anything for she was so certain that nothing would befall her, even knowing, as she does thanks to Leliana's experiences, that a well-placed blade can alter fate.

            After Haven, Josephine was afraid, but even so her fear was more abstract—a fear of the future, of the possible failure of their mission, of the consequences of such.  Never, specifically, a fear of her own death, which might come at any moment.  It is easy to forget, ensconced as she is in ceremony, always thinking of the ramifications of her actions in some distant future, that she herself is limited to the here and now, that she will not live to see many of her plans come to fruition.

            Before, when she thought that she was dying, she did little to alter her course of action, for her death was a foregone conclusion and she had not the time to make arrangements, but now, knowing that she has time and knowing that that might change at any moment, she finds herself considering her future.  Perhaps the natural response to fully realizing one's mortality is anger, or grief, but Josephine experiences neither, or if she does they are so tempered by feelings of purpose that she does not notice them.  Instead, Josephine merely feels compelled to deal with her inevitable death responsibly.

            With little left to do in the final weeks of preparation for the fight with Corypheus, having already done all that she can to muster support and resources, Josephine finds her spare hours consumed with the writing of her will, guaranteeing that her legacy, the fruits of her labor, will not be lost when she dies.  Even with her family's trading status secured, their position is still precarious enough that her untimely death would be potentially disastrous, so she works to lay out a means of consolidation of their assets following her death, and vows that if she still lives in five years she shall update it, such that it is always current and useful for her family.

            Next, she writes letters, to be read upon the event of her death.  Some of them are more practical, such as the one for Antoine, who stands to inherit after her, detailing all of the machinations, political and economic, she has in place, and what should be done to ensure her plans are realized.  Other letters are purely sentimental, such as the one she writes to Yvette, which she hopes will say all the things she never has, will express how much she loves her sister, for all of their differences.  Josephine writes, and writes, and writes, until she comes to the last of the letters, there she cannot find the words to express how she feels.

            One letter she has dedicated already to both Leliana and Cassandra, in the hopes that should they survive her they shall not be parted from one another, and one letter she has dedicated to Leliana alone, urging her towards the lightness inside her, towards the good Josephine knows she can accomplish, but there is no letter yet for Cassandra alone.  What can Josephine say to such a one as she?  By virtue of Cassandra's straightforward, somewhat taciturn nature, no letter could ever suffice.  She has no words for Cassandra, who is a woman of action.

            Ultimately, she does not try, and hopes that Cassandra will understand.

 

XII.

            i.

            On the night before Cassandra leaves on a mission, Josephine always makes love to her, and does so entirely without speaking.  Sometimes, Leliana joins them, and sometimes she does not, because she is busy, or off somewhere herself, or not in the mood for the particular gentleness of the sex that always happens on this night.  Leliana is not particularly inclined towards gentle sex, Cassandra has noticed.  Of course, neither is Josephine, but there is something in Cassandra's leaving that always changes her.  Perhaps, like Cassandra, she fears the feeling of helplessness that accompanies a loved one in danger, or perhaps she senses that even now Cassandra feels nervous on the eve of riding out, when there is nothing left for her to do.  Regardless of her motive, the silence has become ritual.

            This night is no different.  Cassandra has seen neither hide nor hair of Josephine or Leliana all week, the three of them having been quite occupied by various preparations for the upcoming battle, but on this last night, returning to their quarters, Cassandra finds Josephine already waiting.  Long, quick fingers, soft and smooth save for a single pen callous, help to divest of Cassandra of her armor as Josephine presses a deep kiss to her lips, as if reminding herself that Cassandra is there, solid weight beneath her mouth.  Cassandra kisses back, only slightly less urgently, and not for the first time wonders what it is that passes through Josephine's mind on nights such as this.  Afterwards, she never thinks to ask, and she dare not break the silence of the moment.

            For all that the scene is familiar, there is a change in Josephine tonight, an urgency that is not usually present.  She is no less gentle, but she moves with purpose and not as languidly as she usually would on a night such as this.  Instead, Cassandra finds herself on her back practically before she can register the change, and from there everything is a blur of sensation, deft fingers which pull her braid loose, a tongue teasing at the dip in her left collarbone where she had broken it years before, a soft thigh slipped between her own, pressing up against her.

            She need not say anything at all.

            ii.

            On the night before the Inquisition's forces are to leave to face Corypheus, Leliana is not with Josephine and Cassandra, instead she is praying.  Not for the lives of their soldiers, nor for their success, but for herself.  Selfishly, she prays that she will have the strength to do what she must, prays that the Maker will guide her on the right path, prays that she will choose correctly.  After her time spent in contemplation, Leliana has at last reached the conclusion that she is able to temper herself enough to be in a relationship with Josephine and Cassandra, has made the choice to try, to go through with her plan.  Now she only prays that she has the strength to choose so every time.  Much like love, her resolution is one that must be chosen, again and again, she must be ever aware of what she has decided.  And she has decided, now, she is going to be sure to think before she acts, to work to respect the wishes of her partners, to not overstep the bounds they set for her, even when a lifetime of training demands that she do otherwise.

            But before she goes to them, she must pray.  Much as she may have come to regret decisions made under the direction of Justinia, Leliana knows that The Maker himself never guided her astray, that when she has followed the teachings of Andraste she has done right.  The Chant itself will guide her, will fortify her, and if after its recitation she remains sure, if she does not falter in the speaking of it, then she will know that she has made the right choice.  Though she knows it will be nearly dawn when she finishes, Leliana begins the Canticle of Trials.

            There will be time enough for her to be with Cassandra and Josephine later.

            iii.

            Lying in Cassandra's arms, hearing the strong, steady heartbeat deep in her chest, Josephine is at last satisfied.  Tomorrow she will worry, and the day after, and the next, until at last Cassandra returns to her, but for now she has everything she could ask for, has no reason to worry for Cassandra's safety, can feel her vitality.  Josephine does not speak, cannot, on nights such as this, partly for fear that when she does so she will feel the character of the words they shared diminished, will know Cassandra will not return to her, and partly because she knows that if she did she would beg Cassandra to stay, to be here with her where it was safe, to not risk herself, and she knows that she must let Cassandra go, that it would be unfair to pressure her to stay when she entered into this relationship knowing what it is that Cassandra does.  Knowing such does not make things any easier for her, however, and so she stays silent.

            Like this, wrapped in one another and the sheets of their bed, it is impossible to say how much time passes by, but the sun has long since set and Leliana has yet to make an appearance.  When she does not wish to join in the pre-leaving ritual they have established, Leliana often comes in late, but even now it seems that she has been longer than usual.  Josephine wonders where she is, but the silence is so fragile that she worries that if she says but a single word then the dam will be broken and all of her anxieties will come bursting forth.   She must content herself with the moment, with the gentle rise and fall of Cassandra's chest beneath her head, with the warmth of skin on skin, with the scent of her love.  When Cassandra is gone, she will revisit this moment of perfect contentment, and she will not let it be marred with worry.  It would be unfair to demand Leliana be here to partake in a ritual that is for her benefit alone.

            And here and now, Cassandra is enough for her.

 

XIII.

            i.

            Cassandra wakes before the dawn, a tightness in her lungs, heart pounding.  She remembers not what she dreamed, but she thinks it must have been terrible for her to be shaking so.  But she did not cry out, must not have been tossing in her sleep, for Josephine still lies half atop her, utterly unaware that anything may be wrong.  Perhaps, then, she should conclude that it cannot have been that bad, if she could sleep so close to someone without her anxiety spilling over, but instead Cassandra just feels terribly alone, as if the closeness of a few hours previous has been erased.  That they could be so close one moment but be living such different lives the next scares her, and she knows that if she woke Josephine, if she spoke of this, she could feel better, but the peace Josephine feels now is so fragile compared to the worry to come, and she cannot bring herself to ruin that.

            Were Leliana here, Cassandra would wake her, but she is absent, has yet to come to bed.  Sometimes, Leliana longs for solitude, and Cassandra thinks now that she understands this, understands Leliana's fear of giving herself fully, of letting the lines between her being and another blur.  Such a connection is what Cassandra has always longed for, but she knows that if she did not allow herself to do so then in times such as this she might not feel so alone, would still be used to calming herself as she was in her many years alone.

            But how can she go back to the way things were, now that she has had a taste of what it is to give herself fully?  Now that she has given all of herself to Josephine and to Leliana, how can she take that back?  And why would she?  She is happy, truly.  More so than she has ever been.  Changed, but happy, and that thought is enough to calm her, to soothe her back to sleep.

            There was no need for her to say a word.

            ii.

            The sky is just beginning to change when Leliana at last finishes the Canticle of Trials, there is no light yet, for the sun rises strangely in the mountains, a grey glow spreading throughout the sky long before there is true light.  Without once stumbling, she recited the entire Canticle, and though she is bone tired now that she has finished, her thoughts never strayed from her purpose while she prayed, voice light as citrus the entire time, words never growing thick with honey, tripping her tongue.  The Maker has smiled upon her prayer, she could feel his presence as she spoke.

            If ever a thing were meant to be, it is her relationship with Josephine and Cassandra.  She thinks that on some level, she has known this, has felt the rightness, would not be willing to change her own habits such for any others, would not have seen the value in such, but it is quite another thing to affirm such through prayer.  Never has Andraste lead her astray, and her work for the Chantry is what has brought her here, into Josephine and Cassandra's arms.  This, what the three of them have between them, is right, is as it should be, the light in a dark world.

            So affirmed, Leliana returns to their shared quarters.  At this hour, she knows that Cassandra and Josephine will be asleep, will not know of her return until they themselves wake, but she is certain now that they can discuss this at length when Cassandra returns from facing Corypheus, that there is no need to rush or to worry.  Something so good cannot be corrupted, she must have faith that things will work out for the best.

            When Cassandra returns, the three of them can begin to discuss the future.  For now, they can share a bed in silence.

            iii.

            Unfortunately, Josephine has never been a heavy sleeper.  Whenever Cassandra rises at dawn to train, or Leliana is roused by a messenger in the middle of the night, Josephine wakes too.  But on mornings such as this, when Cassandra rises to leave on a mission rather than to train, Josephine is thankful.  She would not want to miss her leaving, would not like to miss the chance to see her love one last time.

            She is, however, exhausted, on this particular morning.  Cassandra woke sometime in the night, and although she did not think she roused Josephine, although no words were exchanged, Josephine listened as her heartbeat slowed to normal, and then as her breaths came slower and she drifted to sleep, and when some half an hour later Leliana returned to bed, that kept Josephine awake too.  She was thankful for the chance to have both of her lovers beside her, content to listen to them breathe without speaking to either.

            Perhaps that is why, when Cassandra rises, dresses, and prepares to leave, Josephine finds it difficult to verbalize her good-bye, just barely managing to speak as Cassandra is shutting the door.

            "Be careful," says she, "please," tongue clumsy with sleep.

            "I shall," says Cassandra, voice clear as ever.

            "I love you," says she, and only then does speaking become easy.  Only then does she know that Cassandra shall be safe.


	2. Ending 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has two endings, and this chapter is the unhappy ending. The two endings do not diverge until section XIII.iii, but the experience of reading the two is, I imagine, quite different. If you want the happy ending, please return to chapter one! If you read that, and just want to know what the difference is, I point you again to section XIII.iii.
> 
> This fic is for the lovely [Kelli](http://anachronizomai.tumblr.com/), who just wanted some Cass/Leli/Josie, or any da femslash, really, and never asked for anything quite this long or involved.
> 
> Within the next few hours I'll probably upload my expanded notes to my [tumblr](http://cassjosie.tumblr.com/tagged/rory+writes/) under the heading for this fic, and although I have my fingers in many metaphorical pies right now with no less than seven wips halfway done, I'm always open to prompts/suggestions/conversation.
> 
> This sort-of AU is of my own making, and I think I've done a fair job of establishing exactly what's going on in the first section, but if you have any questions, just shoot me an ask or comment when you're done.
> 
> Until then... enjoy. Or don't. It's up to you.

Nulla.

            It is known that all are born with a set number of words, never to be exceeded in their lifetime.  While discerning the totality of words has proven impossible, upon first speaking to another a sense can be gained of the duration of the dialogue between the two parties, and through many relationships one may ascertain a great deal about how much longer one might expect to live.  An abundance of words is generally taken to mean that one shall live a long life, a dearth an indicator of premature death.  Such is not always the case, but exceptions are few enough and far enough between that such a myth has been enduring, and enshrined as fact among the general populace.

            At such a time as one names a child, they may have a sense of the number of words their child will have in their lifetime, although the character of those words remains unknown to all but their future speaker.  Many pray most fervently upon finding the number of their child's words to be lacking in number, fervently.  While Andraste spoke not of such a situation, and no prayer exists within The Chant, there are among every people in Thedas folk prayers and blessings that one may say in such a scenario.  In Antiva, one prays that there has been a mistake, that the tabulation of the child's words have gone awry, in Orlais, one prays for more, more, more, that something extra be granted, and in Ferelden one prays their child finds purpose wordlessly, that they learn to hold their tongue.  But in Nevarra, one does not seek to cheat fate.  Death is inevitable, be it at one word or one million words, and there is no cheating it.  Knowing this, Nevarrans pray for no reprieve from fate.  Instead, a prayer is said for a tradeoff, that the child take the words of the mother and father.  Come time, all shall die; it is no great sacrifice that the parent give a few years to the child.  No less fervent are the prayers of other nations, but there is a weight to such Nevarran prayer that exists not otherwise.

            Of such a nature are the prayers made by Matthias and Tigana Pentaghast upon the birth of their daughter.  As Tigana holds the child, and bequeaths upon her a name, she finds that she can feel the weight of their conversation, and finds it lacking.  A woman of many words herself, in turns feather light and somber as one expects of Nevarrans, this development troubles her greatly.  Her husband may himself speak few words, but Tigana's craft requires that she be of sharp mind and sharper tongue.  Desperately she had prayed for this child, a girl to share her passions and to match her ambition, Matthias had his son it was only fair that The Maker grant her a daughter in turn.  So she shall pray again, this time not for the birth of her daughter but for the life.

            Across Thedas, and not terribly long after Tigana's vision is realized at the expense of herself and her husband, another child is born.  Weak from her labor and delirious from pain, Oisine holds in her arms her first and only child, and finds she has no name to give.  Instead, the infant is brought to the Lady Cecilie Vasseur, and is by her given the name Leliana.  For reasons entirely her own, Oisine does not ask about her daughter's words, and Lady Cecilie in turn offers no information.  In speaking of life, Leliana will later say, one naturally invites the discussion of death.  To do so at a birth could not be more inauspicious.  Regardless of motivation, the women decide that some doors are best left closed, and questions left unasked.

            Across the sea, in the Montilyet household, little is left unsaid, let alone unasked.  When the house's newest scion is born, a small girl with hair which is already thick and a mole on her chin, Yves Montilyet proudly introduces to the world his daughter, Josephine Cherette.  Immediately he is asked by his wife the number of their daughters words, and he laughs as he pronounces that he doubts if she will ever stop talking.  Small Josephine chooses this as the moment which she shall, for the first time, cry.  Yves laughs, and does not stop laughing until the birth of his second daughter, upon whose naming he proclaims, somewhat bemused by the development, that some manner of plugging his ears must be produced, for this child will surely speak even more.

 

I.

            i.

            Cassandra pays little attention to what words she feels between herself and others, for she feels similarly with everyone.  Perhaps, she thinks, her words are broken.  Perhaps it is a defect uniquely her own.  With everyone whom she speaks—her brother, her uncle, the sister in the Necropolis' Chantry—there are few enough words.  For her, all language is thick and heavy, choking her like the incense Vestalus burns at rituals, like the thud, soft but firm, as the slab of marble is lain across the tomb.  As tools go, Cassandra finds words to be flawed.  She is clumsy with them, with their heaviness.  Her tongue goes thick as she speaks, such that she has little to say even to Anthony, whom she loves, whom she will see for many years to come.  At times though, her voice comes through clearly, ringing like the bells of the Chantry, when she speaks to her brother during sparring or when she raises her voice in prayer.  This, she thinks, is how things ought to be, words sliding easily from off of her tongue, easily as blood flows through her veins.

            She is not so much older when she realizes that she was wrong, that there was a reason words came to her only with great difficulty among all those whom she knew.  When Anthony dies, she has little enough left to say to Vestalus, who blames the affair on carelessness.  Little has she to say to the people who visit the Grand Necropolis either, nor to her tutors, for she does not belong here.  She has to leave, get out of the suffocating Necropolis with its stale air, she cannot breathe here, needs to be free, free where air flows cleanly through her lungs like the words of The Chant from her mouth.  Either she leaves now, finds a purpose outside of the Necropolis, or she shall surely die here.

            ii.

            To little Leliana, words come as easily as song to birds.  Her words are most often like the smell of citrus when she stands in the orange gardens with her mother, sharp and clear, quick and fresh.  Lady Cecilie brings her into the parlor sometimes, just to speak to the guests, charming them each in turn.  Conversation between them is always facile, in both senses of the term, and as with everyone she meets, Leliana shares many words with the Lady's guests.  None, however, share so many words with her as her mother, with whom conversation seems endless, effortless.

            Until, that is, her mother contracts a fever.  First it is Leliana who is stricken, confined to bed and delirious, but the bond of the words between them remains strong as ever, and so even as her mother kneels at her bedside, praying for her life, Leliana never loses faith that The Maker will see her safely through to the other side.  Day by day, bolstered by her utter conviction that she shall live, Leliana's health improves. 

            Occupied as she is with prayer and with her duties about the house, Oisine does not speak to her daughter for several days in her confinement, and so it is that neither notices that the words between them have become honey thick.  In the few conversations they have, Leliana is weak, and Oisine's voice hoarse, so it is unremarkable to either that their words are few.  Not until Oisine collapses does Leliana realizes that the words on her tongue, though no less sweet, sit heavy on her tongue, and do not so easily burst forth as once they did.  Indeed, she and her mother can hardly speak at all to one another.  For the first time, she is afraid.  Not only for her mother, whom she now knows must certainly die, but also for herself.  While she had always believed her abundance words a guarantee, a promise of her longevity, she now sees that this may not be so.  From this point forward she takes honey in her tea, a reminder of how nothing in her life is guaranteed.

            iii.

            Josephine's words flash and glimmer like the light upon the waves, tumbling forth from her tongue like so many rivers flowing to the sea.  Although she is young yet, she knows well enough that her words shall not always be so.  Having spent countless hours speaking to her grandmother, about politics, about business, about the future, Josephine is well aware of how the nature of her speech changes, grows solid, nearly tangible, when speaking of such things.  When she needs them to be, her words have weight, are heavy as the oak used to make the keel of the great galleons which do trade in the Rialto Bay, but maintain the flexibility of the pine requisite for building a hull.  She does not feel strong, not often, not like her cousins who tussle in the grass during family picnics, not like her father as he sits tall astride a horse, but her words, they are strong, and she hopes that with time they can be enough for her.

            Such has always been the case with her grandmother, who has handled the family's affairs for decades.  Even now, old, frail, and bedridden, her voice gives her enough presence to command a room, lends her enough strength to settle trade disputes, to placate the implacable.  Josephine thinks that, when she is grown, she would very much like to do so as well.

            When at last her grandmother's words begin to falter, when the pauses in their conversation grow long, it is all the harder for Josephine to watch.  Words, the source of her strength which Josephine has so long admired, come slowly now, and her grandmother seems to shrink with each passing phrase.  Day by day, she is diminished, and Josephine wonders if this is to be her fate.  It is not such a bad thing to die surrounded by one's family, and to know it is coming, but Josephine does not wish for herself the gradual loss of her voice, of her power.  For the first time, she wishes for something more, beyond what is expected of her as head of the family.

 

II.

            i.

            The Divine is dying.  She and Cassandra have both known this for some time, are close enough that they can sense the change in their speech.  Words have ever been a struggle for Cassandra, but she struggled to even join Divine Beatrix in evening prayer.  Now, in the pre-dawn, alone in the Grand Cathedral, she tries again, feels the weight on her chest lift and the tightness in her throat dissipate.  Clear as it ever has been, The Chant springs forth from her lips, and it should be comforting, to hear the words rise so crisp and bright, but all she can think is that this means that the Divine is not long for this world, and that she will stay, will survive to see another woman take her place.  Could a new Divine be so worthy?  Would a new Divine say that her place is here?

            Never before has Cassandra been a party to this, the gradual decline in conversation that occurs between two people prior to the death of the one.  She has heard of it, as everyone does, knew it would happen to her one day, accepted that, but to feel it for herself is an entirely different prospect.  To know that she will outlive someone that she, in one sense of the word, loves, is not something that she has any experience with, and she feels helpless.  For all that she might rail against the inevitable, there is nothing she can do.  She is powerless to stop time, to save Beatrix, and, selfishly, she feels sorry for herself that she feels this way.

            All else, Cassandra can shoulder, all else can she suffer without a word, but helplessness, helplessness is something entirely different.  She hopes she never feels this way about someone with whom she is in love.  It would break her.

            ii.

            Leliana is dying.  She feels it in all she does, the staleness in the air, the thinness of the words between her and Marjolaine, the erosion of all dialogue between herself and the others in the court.  Such is hardly unexpected, for the lifespan of bards as successful and notorious as she is not terribly long.  There can be no retirement plan for a bard, one makes entirely too many enemies to ever settle down.  Leliana knows this, has known this all along, and she thought she had accepted it, that the thrill of The Game was worth dying for, that Marjolaine was worth dying for, but in truth, she is not ready yet to die.

            So she fights it, fights fate, runs as far and as fast as she can, runs until there is no air left in her lungs with which she might speak, no strength with which to cry out, no words left to speak.

            But when she has nothing left to say, a voice comes to her, speaks for her, speaks of what she must do to survive this, what good she may yet do, of life itself, and there are between them so many words.  So she fights yet again, to escape the Arl's estate, to find freedom, to fulfill her purpose. 

            The voice is not of the Maker, but of one who speaks for him, Revered Mother Dorothea.  Still, in Leliana's eyes they may as well have come from the Maker himself.  In her darkest hour, she was saved, was brought into the light, and between she and Dorothea words are the scent of citrus in the morning, sweet but not overly so, not oppressively heavy as the honey that dripped from her tongue with Marjolaine.

            Here, she has purpose, has meaning enough that she can begin, now, to forgive herself and to heal.

            iii.

            No one is dying.  Not if Josephine can help it.  She and all of her friends will yet survive this venture, their regrettable decision to become bards will not mean that they shall not survive to become the heads of families that they were raised to be.  While the others revel in violence, Josephine goes to the greatest of lengths to avoid it.  All that she is asked to do can be done just by speaking, and so speak she does.  Between herself and the members of the court with whom she interacts, she shares a preponderance of words, and does not worry that she is wasting them in an attempt to avoid bloodshed.  Perhaps this is a luxury afforded to her and only her because she has so many words, as Niccolo suggests, but privately she thinks to herself that she would do so even if she did not have half so many words as she does.

            And why is Niccolo complaining, anyway?  His violence, his utter lack of hesitance when it comes to striking the killing blow, has seen him rise in the ranks far faster than any other of their companions.  With his most recent promotion, she felt the words between them shrink almost to non-existence.  He has not the time for them, any longer, his one-time companions are now beneath him.  Oh, he still comes to the soirees they invite him to, but it is only a matter of time, she can feel it.

            Never has Josephine understood the instinct for violence, but when a knife flashes in darkness her hands move faster than her tongue.  As the body tumbles down the stairs, too quick for her to catch but slowly enough that she notices every grotesque detail of the fall, the crunch of bones and the angle at which an arm bends, the whites of terrified eyes behind a mask, she finds but a single word, a simple no.

            Niccolo lies dead at the bottom of the stairs, their relationship ended not by his pride, not by his ambition, nor by his violence, but by her own.

 

III.

            i.

            Leliana's arrival precedes that of the new Divine, Justinia V, and Cassandra is immediately suspicious of her.  Divine Beatrix had been nearly as straightforward as Cassandra, had seen little reason to employ the services of a Left Hand, but Cassandra still knows what one is, and imagine she knows what Leliana's purpose in meeting her is.  This stranger, moving with the grace of an assassin but the self-righteousness of the worst of the Templar order, will decide her fate, will judge her worthiness to serve the Most Holy.  For this reason, Cassandra takes an instant dislike to Leliana.  What need has the Chantry for such things, she wants to ask, but decides, for once, to hold her tongue, to save her harsh words for later, when Leliana asks that she leave.

            Instead, her first words to Leliana are a somewhat terse greeting, a welcome through clenched teeth.  But despite her tone, the words from her mouth feel as beautiful as any words she has ever spoken, come more readily than any before them.  They cut through her grief, through her usual reticence, and she feels, for the first time, not a tool of the Maker, of the Divine's will, but something more.  It is curious, and rather than being pleased Cassandra is even more skeptical of Leliana than she had been before.  How this has been accomplished, Cassandra knows not, nor is she entirely certain she wants to.  Leliana, she is certain, will be trouble.

            Cassandra has heard tell of reactions to another being like this before, but she is certain that the situations are different, for she and Leliana do not love one another, they cannot.  For Leliana is a woman, and Cassandra is not possessed of such inclinations.  Moreover, Leliana relies on subtlety and subterfuge, which Cassandra is without and frowns upon.

            Perhaps they are a different kind of match, destined to work well together.  Surely that is the case.  It explains why Leliana gives her a glowing recommendation to Justinia V.

            ii.

            Words are one of many tools among Leliana's repertoire, and she wields them as the weapons they are.  She hesitates not when striking, in word or deed, and as such she shares a great many of them with the denizens of the court.  It is not so surprising, then, that such would be the case between herself and one Josephine Montilyet, Antivan Ambassador to Orlais.  But, as Leliana has been studiously ignoring for the years the two of them have known one another, the quality of words shared between them is noticeably different from those she shares with other people.

            With Josephine, there exists nothing of the honeyed sweetness she experiences when speaking with other players of the Game, only purest citrus, and Leliana wonders how anyone so situated in Orlesian political life can be so pure.  Conversations between the two of them are as beautiful as any she has ever had, and she feels free to speak with a depth of emotion that she usually saves for within the Grand Cathedral, with Cassandra or with Justinia V herself.  The way Josephine speaks to her, as if she is someone who is good and worth spending time with even outside of political expedience, outside of her work within the Chantry, outside of some deeper purpose, makes Leliana wish she could be something more, something better.  Someone a person like Josephine could love.

            But she is not that person, could never be.  Even in her work for the Most Holy, Leliana is a killer before she is anything else, useful because she will not hesitate to destroy.   Leliana doubts that Josephine has ever so much as raised a hand to another.  Josephine is good and gentle and a thousand other things Leliana is not.

            So Leliana will content herself with what they have, will not risk sullying Josephine by association.  They can remain friends, and nothing need change.

            iii.

            When Josephine first sees Cassandra, neither of them says a word to one another.  How could they, separated by such distance as they are?  It is Divine Justinia the Fifth's ascension, and Josephine is but a distant face in the crowd, while Cassandra is at the side of the new Divine.  Only because she has heard so many tales of the Hero of Orlais does Josephine remember the moment, remember thinking that she is just as beautiful as the stories said, if not more so.  Little more does she think of it at the time, however, for she and Cassandra move in such different circles that she doubts if she will ever have the chance to actually meet the woman.

            Everything changes, for Josephine, the second time she sees Cassandra, the first time words are exchanged between them.

            It is high noon in Val Royeaux, and though the city may be further South than Josephine's own home, something in the way that people feel compelled to pack in together, so unlike sprawling Antiva City, makes the heat near unbearable.  To stay inside, Josephine finds, is even worse—no amount of opened windows save one from the oppressive feeling of still, hot air.  On days such as this she goes to the docks, and imagines she is back home with her family, listening to the waves.  Usually, at this hour, she is alone (or relatively so), but today there sits another woman further down the docks, book in hand.  Cassandra Pentaghast.

            Surprised to see the woman whose heroism and bravery she heard tales of as a girl, Josephine does not approach.  She says nothing at all in the entire time that Cassandra is there, and makes a concentrated effort to not so much as look in Cassandra's direction, lest she be caught staring.

            It is not until Cassandra is leaving that she says anything, noticing the whetstone that had fallen beside where Cassandra sat.  She cries out for Cassandra to wait, but goes unheard, and finds herself unable to pursue as she is struck still and silent by the sheer number of words she and Cassandra will share, bright as the sun beating down upon them.

            Josephine keeps the whetstone, thinking to return it when they meet again.

 

IV.

            i.

            When the Conclave explodes, Cassandra is staggered.  She is not near enough to the blast to be knocked back by the explosion itself, but she feels all at once so many conversations cut short—Most Holy's, Regalyan's, those which she shared with her comrades in arms.  All at once, and it is too much, she finds herself falling back where she stands.  By the time she speaks with Leliana when she ventures outside, sees the great hole in the sky glowing a sickly green, hears from a scout what had happened, Cassandra already knows.  She is hurt, perhaps more deeply than she has been since Anthony's death, her faith in the Maker is shaken, her world tilted on its axis, but above all else, she is relieved to hear Leliana's voice, relieved that words flow between them as easily as they ever have.  Now, more than ever, this is important.  Before, they have had to rely on one another for missions, but now, when she most needs support, Cassandra has no one else.

            Having Leliana to lean on, at the end of another long day, is often the only thing that keeps Cassandra going and she struggles to keep peace between mages and Templars in the camp, struggles to rebuild the world as she knows it, struggles to find words to express the future she sees.  Through the years, Leliana has become the most important person in Cassandra's life, and she is not sure how she did not see such before now.  It scares her, to rely on someone else.

            What scares her more, however, is the introduction of the Ambassador.

            Josephine is beautiful, and clever, and as easy to speak to as Leliana herself.  Cassandra does not say as much, but she is deeply afraid that Leliana feels for Josephine what Cassandra feels for her.  Worst of all, Cassandra would have to admit that they are well matched, that Josephine grants Leliana a reprieve from the grimness of her days, and Leliana can protect Josephine in a world far too harsh for one as gentle as she.  It is to Josephine that Leliana seems to speak, when she is troubled.

            From this, Cassandra realizes three things.  First, that she loves Leliana.  Second, that she is in love with Leliana.  Third, that Leliana is in love with one Josephine Montilyet.

            ii.

            A specter of uncertainty haunts Leliana's thoughts, has done so since the explosion of the Conclave.  Without Divine Justinia to give her purpose, to point her in the right direction, Leliana is not sure who she is any longer.  For so long, she has constructed her identity externally, following the will of the Divine, or of the Maker, and not stopping to question her own actions.  Who is she without someone to tell her where to go, whom to kill?  Can she trust her own moral decisions?  Should she have trusted the moral decisions of others as blindly as she did?

            Already, Cassandra is grappling with her own faith, has confided as much in her privately.  It would not do to burden Cassandra further by confessing to her own concerns, and so she turns instead to Josephine.  Josephine who is an innocent, perhaps not in totality but enough so that next to her Leliana cannot help but feel sullied, Josephine who is kind, and compassionate, and will listen for hours without making one feel as if they are overburdening her, Josephine whose goodness is such that Leliana draws ever nearer to her in the hopes that she, to, can become more so by association.  But Leliana worries that the reverse must also be true, that in sharing time with her Josephine drags herself down into the muck with everyone else.  By believing in Leliana, and by being so good to her, Josephine drives her away. 

            This is too much, too fast, and Leliana has distanced herself from others for a reason.  She stops speaking to Josephine of such things, pretends they do not trouble her any longer.  It is not true, and she knows that Josephine knows it, but this is the best she can do to protect one of the last precious things in her life, to not despoil something pure.

            One night, when she believes all others are asleep, she returns to the chapel—wonders when entering a holy place began to feel like sneaking in—and speaks to the statue of Andraste, speaks of the rose she once saw in a garden, how beautiful it was, how unmarred by the world it had come into, how she longed to pluck it from the stem but knew that to do so would kill it.  She prays for strength to do what must be done, prays for the resolution of her uncertainty, prays for the rose which blooms in wartime.

            She cannot pluck the rose, but oh, it is beautiful to look at.

            iii.

            Leliana regrets asking her to join the fledgling Inquisition, Josephine knows.  Perhaps the pragmatic part of Leliana, the part which has for years killed for the greater good, does not regret, but some part of her must, for she drifts further and further away.  Nothing Josephine says to her seems to sway her mind.  Long has Josephine admired Leliana's courage, having not had occasion to be at odds with it, so she knows well that there is little enough she can do now to change Leliana's mind.  She only prays Leliana finds her way back, or to someone else, before she allows her own demons to consume her.

            Being perhaps not as strong in her faith as many others, Josephine never quite leaves anything to chance, however.  Even at times when it is clear there is nothing left for her to do, she remains watchful, hoping for new opportunities to arise.  Such a habit makes her an excellent politician, and while it does sometimes lead to her overthinking interpersonal situations, a tendency to examine all situations for potential opportunities and threats does mean she rarely misses anything of import.  Now is such a time.

            Having finished her work for the evening earlier than usual, she crosses the hall of the Chantry building to the room which she shares with Leliana and Cassandra, only to pause at the door as she hears them conversing.  To eavesdrop would be uncouth, but Josephine does have a vested interest in learning what it is her fellow War Council members discuss when not in the War Room itself, and this is a rare case in which she cannot rely upon Leliana to give her accurate information.  So she listens, and waits.  It is late enough that the chance of someone passing by and questioning her presence is unlikely, and should it happen she can wave away any questions under pretense of not wishing to interrupt the conversation.  

            Josephine hears as Cassandra confides in Leliana, speaks of frustrations and triumphs, and the struggle to reimagine the future.  When she knows enough (possibly more than) she steps away, and leaves the two their privacy.  What needs to be done is clear to her.

            If she is to save Leliana, or convince Leliana to save herself, Josephine cannot do so alone.  With Cassandra as an ally, however, Josephine is certain that she can turn Leliana back to the light.

 

V.

            i.

            Having resolved the question of with whom to ally and closed numerous rifts throughout the Hinterlands, Fallow Mire, and Storm Coast, Cassandra cannot be said to be in any way disappointed with the Inquisition's progress.  On a personal level, however, she finds herself to be quite frustrated. 

            Some months earlier, Josephine had come to her with a proposition, namely that the two of them ought to work together in order to help Leliana cope with the results of the Conclave.  She was wrong, apparently, about the nature of Josephine and Leliana's relationship (but not, she thinks, about their feelings), and Josephine, too, is frustrated by Leliana's silence.  Such is common ground enough for them, and they begin to work towards a common goal. 

            In the ensuing days, weeks, months, they make precious little progress; Leliana seems no closer to allowing herself to rely upon others, allowing herself to feel weakness.  Their venture is a failure in every aspect but one.

            In conspiring to help Leliana, their own conversations now venture outside of the professional.  When they were merely colleagues, it was easy enough for Cassandra to dismiss the nature of speaking with Josephine as a byproduct of her profession, for a diplomat must be amicable, but now there is no denying that the connection between them is different.  The quality of her words, when she speaks with Josephine of the weather (dreadful), the food (bland), the recruits (inept), is not unlike when she speaks with Leliana, is consistently pleasant despite the genuine unpleasantness of the topic.  Generally, such a quality of speech is attributed to love, but of what kind?  Those who are very dear friends may speak as easily as lovers, as may mentors and members of one's family, so the relationship behind such conversation can be... difficult to resolve.  Abstractly, Cassandra is aware that one is meant to listen to the heart in such cases, but her love of romance does not mean that she is what anyone might describe as in touch with her feelings.  She feels, and strongly, but the act of naming her emotions, putting to words the abstract, is not something Cassandra is comfortable with, or confident in her ability to do.

            She and Josephine have become close, this much Cassandra knows, have become precious to one another, and she hopes ardently that nothing will happen to come between them.

            ii.

            The closing of the Breach is an unmitigated disaster—or what happens in the aftermath is.  Haven is destroyed, the one person with the power to close rifts is nearly lost to them forever, many of her agents have died, and it is her fault in the entire.  Normally she is quick to strike, does not hesitate to do what is necessary in order to achieve her goals, but this time she hesitated.  She was afraid of losing a few agents, so she hesitated, and now she has lost many.  She has failed them, and, by the curious mechanism through which one's actions may become one's person, is herself a failure.  For how long has she flawlessly played the Game, for how long has she successfully balanced action and in action, only to choke now, when the stakes are highest?  Weakness, that which she has always found deplorable in others, has wormed its way into her and she finds she is, for the first time, repulsed by herself, by her failures, by what she is becoming.

            It is late at night when Josephine and Cassandra find her, in a tent on the edge of camp (a strategic decision on her part, to assess the comings and goings of others, to identify traitors, not to hide herself away).  Ostensibly, they have come there because Josephine is having trouble sleeping given what they witnessed in the days before, but this is a lie.  Since her days as a bard, Josephine has dreamed of death, but she has never needed Leliana's help to cope with them, has never admitted to them save in passing—and in daylight.  Even were this the case (and perhaps Josephine is a bit paler than normal, an unhealthy tinge to her skin in the firelight), Cassandra's time with apprentices has taught her much about dealing with those new to bloodshed, and she could have dealt with the problem without seeking another's help.  This, then, must be some ploy out of concern for her.

            Leliana tells herself it is foolish, that the other two need not worry over her, that she is above such emotional concerns, is in control.  Leliana tells herself she is humoring them as she takes a somewhat shaken Josephine into her arms.  Leliana tells herself that she deserves to bear her feelings in silence, and she almost believes it.

            Not until Cassandra wraps strong arms around her does Leliana realize that she, too, is crying.

            iii.

            Josephine frames it as a logistical issue.  There are three of them who at Haven shared a room, and they have since shared a tent on the journey to Skyhold.  Had they all their own bed, then that would be three bed spaces taken, but if they share one large bed, which would be used by at most two people in any other situation, then only two bed spaces are used.  Given the limited resources available in Skyhold at the present moment, and the fact that they slept in closer quarters for the past two weeks, this is the logical choice.  If having other people nearby makes it easier to sleep through the night, if it keeps Leliana from staying awake all night working, if it encourages Cassandra to go back to sleep when she wakes in the pre-dawn hour, then Josephine shall not complain.

            Her motives are entirely transparent, she is sure, but neither Cassandra nor Leliana complains, or even implies that perhaps she has additional reasons for this decision.  It seems that they agree, even if neither would say so outright, preferring not to acknowledge weaknesses in themselves.

            As for the rest of the Inner Circle, no questions are raised as to the arrangement, but Josephine does wonder briefly at what the others must think.  Do they know that there is but one bed between the three of them, or do they assume the arrangement to be as it was in Haven?  If they do know, do they care?  Is there an assumption, unspoken that something untoward may be happening?   Would Josephine mind if such a thing was believed?

            She realizes that she would not mind that mistaken assumption at all.  Perhaps it is improper, and she does abhor impropriety, but Josephine would rather be with Leliana and Cassandra and live with such accusations than be without them and in a proper role, as she so long has been.

            Or, some part of her suggests, perhaps she would like the rumors to be true.

 

VI.

            i.

            For all that Leliana and Josephine are the two people with whom Cassandra has been most easily able to speak in her life, she finds that having words is only half of the battle when it comes to communicating.  Much of her life, Cassandra has had few words with those whom she encountered, and has said so little that she fears, now, that she will not know how to say important things, not when it matters most to her.  Many of the more meaningful interactions between them of late, although not wordless, have been mostly communicated through gesture, through physical intimacy.

            Intimacy—that one word sums up all of Cassandra's problems within the relationship, if it can be called such.  Having been isolated, having isolated herself from the dialogue of love, Cassandra has little enough of a vocabulary of intimacy, much of her knowledge coming from florid tales and smutty literature.  Little enough does she know of confession, of vulnerability, of declarations outside of her work with the Seekers.  Deeply, she wishes to address how she feels, address the shift in emotions she has sensed between the three of them, but she knows not what to say.

            Instead, she fills the space between them with a thousand other words—troop movements, thoughts on the direction the Inquisition ought to be taking, and in more vulnerable hours, in when they rise at dawn, sometimes she lets slip something more personal, about  Anthony or her time as a Seeker, but only without realizing what it is she is saying.

            Is that the secret to communication, must one be unaware of the words one speaks until the telling is done?  If so, Cassandra will never achieve truly organic conversation, for she thinks too much, too deeply, about all which she says, rendering her speech stilted and awkward. 

            She hopes that one of the other two, who have always had enough words to say all that they will, shall broach the subject for her. 

            ii.

            Something is troubling Cassandra, Leliana is certain, for although the character of their speech has not changed (she has begun to believe, now, that it never shall, that no matter how wretched she becomes neither Cassandra nor Josephine shall ever fully be distanced from her), her countenance has.  Where before Cassandra was ever confident, back straight and head held high, now she seems diminished in some way, hesitating before she speaks and contradicting herself, words tripping over each other in a way they never do when she is relaxed, or in her element.

            This change began after Haven, and has only become more pronounced over time, and not for the first time Leliana wonders if this, too, is something for which she is at fault.  Already, the Conclave had done much to hurt Cassandra, had led her to question the maker, and now she has done this, has allowed to come to place another catastrophic loss of life.  It makes sense, then, that she might become more reserved as a result of such an event, might be hesitant to speak around Leliana, whom she no doubt blames on some level.

            It makes sense, but it is not the answer, for Cassandra is also increasingly reticent before Josephine, who can in no way be blamed for the events at Haven.  Leliana knows that Josephine and Cassandra have, themselves, a large number of words shared, Josephine has privately confided as much to her, so it seems likely that Cassandra has become more reserved around Josephine for the same reason as she has Leliana.  Knowing a correlation is not enough to discover causation, in and of itself, but this information is enough for Leliana to begin looking in the right direction, to question what between the three of them is shifting and might account for this change in Cassandra.

            When Leliana realizes, she does not act.  She and Josephine have long been casually intimate with one another, entirely without the pressure of being lovers.  Friendship is safer, for all of them.  Friends cannot break one's heart the way a lover can, she tell herself.  Friends cannot betray you.

            One such as she cannot be a lover.

            iii.

            Josephine knows why it is that Cassandra speaks more clumsily around her, and why it is that Leliana speaks not at all, if it can be avoided.  After all, it is Josephine's job to know such things.  Although it could be argued that such is Leliana's job, too, Leliana ultimately is not concerned with the emotions of those whose motives she parses in such a way that Josephine is.  To be a diplomat, one must know how another thinks, must always be able to gauge their feelings towards oneself.  It is not enough for a diplomat to rely upon words alone, their unique character in a conversation (which, she believes, reveals more about the speaker than the spoken to), their method of delivery (for one may lie as easily aloud as in pen, with sufficient practice), and certainly it is not enough to rely upon the content of the words (indeed what is not said is of equal or greater importance, in most situations).  More so than Leliana or, Maker forbid, Cassandra, Josephine is in touch with her emotions, and the emotions of others.  She knows what it is that Cassandra wishes to say, but cannot find words for, what Leliana could say, but is afraid to.

            If neither of the other two will speak, then she supposes it must be left to her.

            Speak she does.

            Not immediately, of course, for she knows better than to do so, and the better part of her job is the correct timing of questions and propositions.  Rather, she spends the better part of two months alluding, subtly, to the shift in their relationship, pushing the boundaries of friendship just slightly, enough so to be noticed but not remarked upon, until Cassandra and even Leliana are receptive to such advances.

            Then, she speaks.  Not as romantically as Cassandra might prefer, not a beautifully as Leliana might have put the words, but in as practical terms as she can manage.  First and foremost, she has always been a businesswoman, and the language of contracts and treaties, of words tangible and sturdy as wood, is comforting to her.

            There will be time enough for words that dance like light upon waves later.

 

VII.

            i.

            Love poetry is even more beautiful when Cassandra speaks it to someone with whom she is in love, just as the Chant was more beautiful when she began praying at Divine Beatrix's side.  Words between the three of them have not become easier, as they could not be so, but knowing the meaning behind the lightness, the feeling that things are as they should be, remains an immense relief.  There is much uncertainty in the world right now, and outside of their relationship Cassandra has few things in which she wholeheartedly believes anymore, her faith in the Chantry and the Seekers having been called into question.  At the end of a long journey, to know that there will be people waiting for her, without a doubt, is an immense comfort.  With Leliana and Josephine, Cassandra can forget, for a time, what she has seen, and think instead on what good exists in the world.

            After needling from various party members, but particularly Varric, it is nice to know that she is both wanted and accepted for whom she is.  A lifetime of being reminded that she is not in line with expectations for women, no matter how ridiculous she finds such an assignation of traits, does make it hard for her to believe, at times, that she can be loved as she is.  While she is never doubted that she is worthy of love, of acceptance, it is one thing to know what one deserves and quite another to believe that one will find it.  Often, she is overwhelmed, and even the easiness of words among them is not enough for her to properly express how she feels.  It was hard to explain, particularly to Josephine, the first time she felt such, but now that the others know, she is unafraid to be vulnerable in front of them, to admit how they have made her feel, and so deeply.

            Love is little like Cassandra imagined; it is so much better.

            ii.

            Being sincere is not an art Leliana has frequently practiced.  Certainly, she often tells the truth in the course of her work, but only carefully placed, in such a way that she can mold the behaviors of others, compel them to do as she wishes.  She is quite unused to telling the truth simply because she can, or because she wishes to.  To offer something of herself, without expecting anything in return, and without feeling her faith or duty compelling her, is not something she has done in a very long time, and she is not particularly good at it.

            Admissions are too easy, now that she has allowed herself to relax somewhat around Josephine and Cassandra, springing forth from her lips before she can thoroughly think through what it is she is saying.  A moment's thought could have told her how disturbing the comparison she chose between eyelashes and butterflies was, and although neither Cassandra (the subject of the compliment) nor Josephine (a mildly horrified witness) commented, she does wonder at how they still accept her.  She has seen and done horrific things, both on the orders of another and of her own volition, a fact which she has made both Josephine and Cassandra very much aware of, yet somehow they still accept her, still see something in her worth loving.  To hear them speak of her, it is almost enough for her to believe that she might be worthy of such after all.

            If someone with such concrete knowledge of right and wrong as Cassandra has, or one as pure as Josephine, can accept her for all her faults, why should Leliana continue to punish herself for her actions under the rule of Justinia?  Perhaps she is not as irredeemable as she thought, perhaps there is yet good in her.

            It will take time, and she has not the time she wishes to devote to it, but perhaps Leliana can learn to love herself after all.

            First, however, she will learn to censor her compliments.

            iii.

            Josephine does not think of herself as being the sort of person who has any particular hang-ups when it comes to accepting herself for whom she is, nor is she the sort of person who ever doubted that she would find someone who could love and accept her, and why should she?  As a reasonably successful person from a fairly functional family, never was she given any reason to doubt herself, or at least not one that she could easily name.  Still, it is hard to not develop some measure of insecurity when one finds oneself in a relationship with two people who are often regarded as living legends.  Surely anyone would wonder how they could be worthy of such.

            When she is with Leliana or Cassandra, everything feels right for Josephine, feels as it should be.  When speaking with them, Josephine need not worry about the potential political fallout of what it is she says, need not worry about the others deeming her problems insignificant in comparison to her own.  With Leliana, she can discuss serious frustrations over breaches of etiquette and treaties, knowing Leliana will understand—and care about—such matters, and with Cassandra she can poke fun at people with whom she is frustrated, can mock the workings of the court she most despises.  Neither judges her for this habit, and she finds it is most relaxing to be able to vent frustrations every now and again.  When she is with Leliana or Cassandra, there are no problems.

            Alone, however, Josephine sometimes feels as if her concerns are somewhat more trivial—if she makes a mistake, she can eventually negotiate her way out of it, but when Leliana makes an error, innocents die, when Cassandra slips up while out in the field, she runs the risk of dying.  Josephine does not feel that her work is unimportant, but that perhaps her individual actions do not bear the same weight and risk as those of her lovers.

            Such a feeling is new for Josephine, but she knows that both Leliana and Cassandra have dealt with similar, and she can learn to do so, as well.  Both of them are here to help her, should she need them, and perhaps it does have its upsides.  Already, she thinks she may understand Yvette a bit better.

 

VIII.

            i.

            That Daniel is dying is immediately apparent to Cassandra when she sees him, they need not say a word for her to be aware of his ill health.  His skin is a ghastly color, and the red of lyrium shines in his eyes—no, through them.  What few words they exchange are difficult, made more so by his poor condition and by a sudden tightness in her chest, her breastplate emblazoned with the logo of the Seekers all at once becoming much too heavy to bear.

            With Lord Seeker Lucius dead at her feet, she thinks that the breastplate ought to feel lighter, but still it is stifling, underneath it her skin is much too warm and when she breathes the air feels nearly stale, like she cannot get enough of it in her lungs, like choking on the incense at Chantry ceremonies, before she became used to the smell.  Speaking now would waste breath she does not have, so she says nothing.  Instead she rides back to Skyhold in silence, resistant to all attempts, no matter how persistent, annoying, or well-meaning, of Sera and Dorian to draw words out of her.  What more has she to say?

            Upon returning to the quarters she shares with Josephine and Leliana is remove her armor, as quickly as she can, tearing it from herself.  She does not place it on its rack but leaves it on the ground, face down, where she does not have to see the sigil, need not acknowledge her order.  Leliana's painting of Andraste she turns to face the corner, yanks Josephine's curtains over the window overlooking the garden, from which Her Lady's  statue can be seen, and finally, finally is free to breathe.  Fresh air fills her lungs as she controls her breaths, mountain air free of the stench of incense, lyrium, or blood.

            A chill washes over her as she speaks the word of the Chant, clears her mind and removes the heat and tightness from her chest.

            ii.

            Cassandra's uncharacteristic silence worries Leliana.  While Cassandra does not speak often, compared to many people Leliana has known, even when with Josephine or herself, Cassandra has a way of making herself known, even without words.  She groans loudly at poor jokes, laughs loudly at good ones, snorts loudly in derision when someone says something she finds particularly ridiculous, even, to Josephine's eternal frustration, chews loudly.  Now, however, when Leliana might have thought her most prone to outbursts, Cassandra is uncharacteristically silent.  Few things scare Leliana, but this does.

            Cassandra has every right to feel angry, to feel betrayed, to feel worry for the future, but instead she appears to feel nothing at all.  If she would only hit something, Leliana would feel better, would know she was attempting to cope with this somehow, but instead she is stubbornly unresponsive, only occasionally breaking from her obsessive reading of the book she recovered from Lucius Corin in order to pray. 

            In response to this behavior, Josephine suggests that this was perhaps a part of Cassandra's grieving process, but Leliana finds that she does not agree.  Cassandra could not be said to be grieving anything, as she is not so good at hiding her emotions as Josephine gives her credit for.  Rather, Cassandra is avoiding the problem altogether.

            Perhaps, with time, Cassandra might become more forthcoming with her emotions and deal with the issue on her own, but all evidence is to the contrary, and Leliana does enough waiting in the course of her duties.  So she snoops, reads the Book of Secrets, even knowing that she should not.  What she reads is troubling, even more so considering Cassandra's present actions.  To be made tranquil, and then to be cured, is a burden that Leliana cannot imagine.  She read the book in an attempt to compel Cassandra to speak, but now she finds that she herself has little enough to say.

            How can she broach the subject, when she herself is horrified, and finds that there are no words with which she can express such a depth of feeling?

            iii.

            Being excluded, either emotionally or in terms of shared knowledge, by Leliana and Cassandra stings.  Josephine knows that there is something that they know, which neither will broach.  If she knew, she thinks she could help, could restore communication between the three of them, but neither of the other two seems willing to speak about what it is that troubles them.  Were it just Cassandra, Josephine might understand, for she is grieving, but what excuse has Leliana?

            So she broaches the subject, one evening, about a month after Cassandra has returned from Caer Oswin, after the three of them have taken dinner together.  It seems senseless to keep avoiding the issue, and if she speaks to both of them at once she saves time, shall not have to repeat herself, and does not risk inadvertently leaving anyone out.  The solution is a good one, and quite logical, and as such it fails spectacularly.

            Well, Josephine supposes that she cannot count the reaction she gets as being entirely a failure, as both Cassandra and Leliana respond, and she learns what is going on, but she manages in the span of a minute, merely by remarking that she expected Cassandra to be angrier about things, to make Leliana go as still and quiet and profoundly sad as Josephine has ever seen, and to prompt a very resigned acknowledgement from Cassandra.  Probably, Josephine should not press further and allow the two of them to come to terms with what it is they seem to be dealing with on their own, but her job is to press people, and she does not resist the impulse to ask why.

            Josephine is glad she did not bring the issue up during dinner itself, for Cassandra speaks of being made tranquil, of the effects of the procedure on a person, of the fear she now holds that perhaps her righteous anger, her emotional volatility she has come to accept in herself as passion, is a result of what was done to her, and not something of her, at all. 

            While speaking, Cassandra chokes up, and although Josephine knows that they will have to work through this, together, she feels hope, because it is the first sign of an emotional response that Josephine has seen from her.

 

IX.

            i.

            Accepting what she can and cannot change has never been Cassandra's strong point, and so to accept that there is something about herself that cannot be bent by sheer force of her will is... difficult, to say the least.  Josephine is not much help, in this case, but has done more than enough for her in forcing her to confront the problem at all.  Now, Cassandra is following Leliana's advice that she focus on what she can change, and work to do so.  If she can reform the Seekers, if she can make the pain this has caused her matter, then maybe she can come to accept it, if not entirely get over it.

            In that regard, all is well as can be, but something in what Leliana said about accepting that which cannot be changed yet troubles Cassandra.  Josephine is ever attempting to convince Leliana to alter her behavior, to speak first and strike second, and while Cassandra has never entirely agreed with such an assessment, speaking first being the sole province of those with many words with which to speak in their lifetimes, she does see now that Leliana may be too accepting of her nature as a killer.  It is one thing to kill often because one has been attacked, or because there is no available avenue of speech for one, and it is quite another to order others be killed because one feels one has no other choice, because one has killed often enough that it does not matter if one hurts over it any longer.  When Cassandra brings such up, Leliana calls her a hypocrite, and is not entirely wrong, for Cassandra does perhaps strike too quickly, but has no retort when Cassandra argues that she does not regret the circumstances under which she has taken lives—unlike Leliana.

            Once who can speak so much as Leliana can has choice, to a degree that few others ever shall, and Cassandra hopes that Leliana will learn in time what an advantage she possesses.

            ii.

            When Leliana goes to Valence and is greeted by Sister Nathalie, the woman's fate is immediately apparent.  In years previous, when they have crossed paths, there has never been a shortage of words between them, but now they have nearly run out entirely.  This is not the first thing that alerts Leliana to Nathalie's suspicious behavior, but it does not hurt, certainly, and when Leliana listens to her words the picture painted by Nathalie's lies is immediately apparent.  She must kill Nathalie for this, and she shall, as soon as she finds what Divine Justinia sent her here for.

            When she opens the secret compartment, however, and reads the message contained therein, she hesitates.  If she is not compelled to strike by order of another, if Justinia regrets having made her into what she now is, then why must she?  Josephine would disapprove of her killing categorically, and Cassandra would urge her to speak first; what could it hurt her to try?  Nathalie has few enough words left with Leliana that she cannot say anything to hurt her now, for if she were to do so Leliana knows that she would speak with her again, before killing her.  So it is that Leliana hesitates, lowers her knife, and feels, for the first time, the number of words with which she shares with someone grow.  There is much between them now, so much that Leliana knows Nathalie will not soon betray her, for it seems they will be in contact in years to come.

            Before now, Leliana assumed that there was no reason not to strike, for her targets would never again encounter her and she did not want to waste her chance, but it seems that she was wrong.  Perhaps they were only so because she had already made up her mind, and she has had all along a choice in when or if she kills.

            Knowing that she can do this, can change fate, Leliana feels powerful, but she is afraid, too, of herself, of what she has become, of the fact that she never considered this scenario.

            iii.

            Leliana returns from Valence changed, and Josephine wonders what it shall mean.  In and of itself the change is not a bad one, has not damaged their relationship in any way, indeed nothing in the quality of the words between them has been altered whatsoever, but there is no question that Leliana has been, and profoundly so.  Following her own advice, and, Josephine is surprised to learn, Cassandra's, Leliana spared a woman's life, but she is not happy about it as Josephine had hoped she would be.  Instead, she seems deeply troubled.  Josephine is quite curious as to why, as it is unfathomable to her that sparing a life could be more taxing than taking one, but pushing Leliana never yields decent results, and so she must wait however long it takes for Leliana to volunteer the information on her own.

            As it turns out, Josephine need not wait long before Leliana comes to her—and she does not know if that is a good sign or something she should be concerned about.  After all, a quick decision on Leliana's part has often ended in bloodshed.  But in that regard at least, she need not worry, after all.

            Having spared Nathalie, Leliana is concerned about her role in the deaths of others, worries about the times she could have chosen differently, of what might have been.  A part of Josephine cannot help but think this is good, that regret for her actions is an improvement, shows that she is rethinking her violent tendencies, but a more selfish part of Josephine, one that she shall never admit to, knows that this will cause Leliana much heartache as she comes to terms with what she has done, and almost wishes that Leliana carry on as she was, if only so that Josephine would not have to see her hurting so.  She shall not give voice to such thoughts, as they would be highly counterproductive to her goals, but privately, she cannot help but think them.  In order to prevent herself to giving voice to such traitorous thoughts, she says nothing throughout Leliana's entire confession.

            To do so was a gambit, but it pays off.  By the end of speaking, Leliana has resolved herself to try harder in the future to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, to pray until the honey is removed from her words and only lightest citrus remains.

            Honey, thinks Josephine, for she had not known, before, how words were for Leliana, and she is grateful her own have no taste.

            She makes a note to ask the chef to avoid providing honeyed dishes in the coming weeks.

 

X.

            i.

            Helplessness, the one enemy that Cassandra has so long feared, at last appears in the form of a missive brought to Josephine.  A courier of hers has been killed, the result of her attempts to restore her family's trading status, what is more, Josephine refuses to be concerned about it, despite Cassandra's urging that she should worry, should have greater consideration for her safety.

            When Josephine goes to Val Royeaux for information and leaves her behind, Cassandra thinks she has never been so restless, so anxious, thinks that she cannot imagine a worse scenario.

            Upon Josephine's return, with the news of a contract on her life and her utter refusal to respond sensibly, to terminate the contract as Leliana has suggested, Cassandra remembers why it is that she has never considered herself to be particularly creative.  Of course things could have been worse, of course Josephine would utterly refuse to be sensible when her life is on the line, of course she would try to talk her way out of everything rather than permitting Cassandra and Leliana to do what it is they do best.  Anxiety such as this is not something Cassandra is used to dealing with, and she paces endlessly, cannot relax when Josephine is out of her sight, finds herself ever more short-tempered, but she does not attempt to sway Josephine, for she knows that in her own way, Josephine is as stubborn as she or Leliana.  Furthermore, there has been no change in Josephine's speech, so perhaps she need not worry at all, and therefore is even less likely to accept help from Cassandra, who resolves herself to sit idly by, as best as she is able. 

            Despite her good intentions, Cassandra has never been good at hiding her feelings, however, and three weeks into attempting to restore her family's trading status, calls Cassandra into her office.  Normally, Josephine prefers to deal with matters pertaining to their relationship in private, in neutral territory so that no one feels they are disadvantaged, and so the setting is all the more alarming for Cassandra—Josephine must be truly angry with her to have this conversation here.

            But when Josephine speaks, her voice is one of concern, not of anger.  Josephine empathizes with Cassandra's feelings of helplessness—of course she does, having been left in Skyhold time and again while Cassandra is out in the field, and Cassandra wonders why she did not consider such before—and offers to allow Cassandra to sit in with her on meetings, on the condition that Cassandra is quiet and does nothing to offend the guests, suggests that perhaps having Cassandra there will bring them both peace of mind.

            Being able to act lifts a great weight from Cassandra's shoulders.  To be responsible for the protection of a life is somehow more bearable than to sit idly by.

            When the assassin comes, she is ready.

            ii.

            Leliana cannot help but feel that they were lucky, that had Cassandra not been present Josephine would have died and that she is fortunate that Cassandra was present.  As much faith as Leliana has in the Maker, she prefers that things not be left to chance, be left to the will of Andraste whether or not Josephine lives.  Her agents failed her, and although Cassandra was with Josephine at the time, it was the result of Josephine indulging Cassandra's protective nature and not of Josephine showing an appropriate level of concern for her own safety.  Leliana knows that she should trust Josephine's judgement, and she does, truly, but it is one thing to know that Josephine can hold her own in a negotiation and quite another to relinquish control when assassins are at play.  Dealing with assassins is Leliana's purview, and it is one thing to respect Josephine's wishes and quite another to set aside an entire career of training.

            Pressing her advantage in the immediate aftermath of the assassination attempt, Leliana urges Josephine yet again to consider destroying the contract The House of Repose holds.  Despite the assassin who lays dead on the floor, despite the fact that she is visibly upset, and despite the fact that Cassandra, before leaving to tend to her wounds, also urged that she reconsider, Josephine is immovable.  As Josephine says that she will not be scared into betraying her ideals, Leliana realizes that she will need to take matters into her own hands.  The contract must be destroyed.

            Even as Leliana's mouth forms the words, however, she feels the change, has difficulty in producing her lip service acquiescence and bidding Josephine her leave.  Josephine's eyes grow wide and Leliana realizes that she must feel it, too.  But what does it mean?  The timing suggests that this is the result of Leliana's decision, a break in their relationship and not the result of Josephine's impending death, but the woman herself is completely unaware of such, must be so.

            Leliana could tell her, could say something, but instead she remains silent in the hope that Josephine yields, for then Leliana could proceed with her consent, could do the most expeditious and safe thing without forfeiting their relationship.

            For her part, Josephine says nothing.

            iii.

            The moment that she forfeits her life to her ideals, Josephine feels it.  Previously , nothing had changed in the conversation between herself and Leliana, but the instant Leliana at last acquiesces, agrees to go along with Josephine's diplomatic plan, they can hardly speak to one another.  In a world such as Thedas, where war and Blight claim countless lives, Josephine has always known there was some risk to her pacifistic stance, that her refusal to take up arms against another—or to do so by proxy—might end in her untimely death, but it is another thing to feel as it happened, to recognize the shift in her speech as she addresses Leliana.  It is terrifying, it is terrible, she knows not what she will say to Cassandra, for there is no need to tell Leliana, who has felt it just as she.  How she could explain her choice to her parents, or to Laurien who in particular has long criticized her for being unwilling to act logically in favor of ideals.

            In the instant she realizes, Josephine thinks of the impact this will have on those she loves, on her family, on the Inquisition as a whole, but never once considers changing course.  By this point, she has committed to a path, has been committed for a number of years, and she shall not change due to fear, no matter what it costs her.  Fear led her to kill, and she shall not be ruled by it again. 

            Feeling language close to her is strange however, that the strength of her voice as she binds a contract now traps her words inside of her, she has nothing left to say.  The loss of that by which she has defined herself, by which she has drawn her power, is profound, and she gets very little work done for the rest of the day.

            But come evening, something has changed, speaking to Cassandra she finds that she need not give the speech she has prepared.  The weight of her words has returned, and they are light and crisp as sea air.  She knows, then, that she will survive, that she has not erred in staying her course.

 

XI.

            i.

            From her scuffle with the assassin, Cassandra is told that she has received a minor concussion.  It is embarrassing for her, of course, to have been injured while fighting inside Skyhold of all places, but the House of Repose is a relatively formidable assassin's guild, and there is something dashing about being injured in the defense of a beautiful woman; she feels a bit like a character in one of her novels, a dashing knight who rescued a fair and gentle lady.  When she tries to say as much, Josephine seems to disapprove slightly, and Leliana's laugh is nearly patronizing, but perhaps this is because her concussion has made it a bit difficult for her to speak, jumbling her words more than she would like. 

            As a result of the concussion, both Josephine and Leliana seem reluctant to allow her back into the field.  Neither will outright argue with her on the issue, Josephine because she has never believed it is appropriate to attempt to directly argue with Cassandra or Leliana about their work decisions—she makes her decisions known, of course, but never outright attempts for forbid or outright stop them—and Leliana seems to have reconsidered her tack, rather than directly acting against Cassandra's decision she has chosen to outline precisely why it is she thinks going into the field at this moment is a bad idea.

            Still, when at the War Table the question of whom to send to face Corypheus is raised, Cassandra is adamant that she shall go.  She is needed there, is useful out in the field, knows that she has a purpose.  Too much time spent in Skyhold makes her restless, and although the business of the contract on Josephine's life has been resolved, Cassandra has yet to fully recover from the feeling of helplessness which had gripped her.

            If, perhaps, her words falter as she declares that she shall go, it is not to be used against her.  She is steady on her feet again, and that is what matters, her voice will follow.

            ii.

            Leliana is not overly fond of being introspective at the best of times, when she can rest assured in the validity of her actions, but her faith demands it over her, demands an accounting of herself and her actions, her motivations, and there is much, now, to be accounted for.  Always, she has thought of herself as truly dedicated to her ideals, but now she has reason to question such an assumption.  For all that she has done, it has ever been with the certainty that hers was the only way, the best way that another option would result in greater loss of life in the long run.  Instead, she is now learning of the real cost of her actions, learning that what she thought was set in stone was not so, and seeing Josephine resist the lethal option, even as she must have felt their words change, must have thought that she was dying, truly rattles Leliana.

            When Leliana withheld from Josephine the reason why their words were few—that Josephine would find a course of action Leliana had resolved herself to unforgivable should it be carried out—she had done so in the hope that Josephine would feel pressured by the feeling into thinking that she was dying, and acquiesce, allowing Leliana to take the option with less risk, ensuring that there would not even be a chance that something would happen to, but now Leliana is forced to confront the fact that even this did not move Josephine.  Ever has Josephine been principled, but to stand firm in the face of (what seems to be) certain death is something entirely otherwise, and Leliana tried to corrupt that.  Josephine would have hated her, would have hated herself, for it, yet Leliana tried to remove that choice.  

            Never has she felt more monstrous, less deserving of the love of the others, so Leliana avoids them.  Stays up in her tower during preparations for the final battle with Corypheus, uses how busy she is preparing as a pretense so that she has more time, time to take herself into accounting, time to reexamine the nature of her relationship, time to see if she can—or wants to—change in order to make their relationship a healthy one, or if she must end things now so that she does not hurt anyone more grievously later.  She wants them, wants this, desperately, but not at the cost of hurting Josephine or Cassandra, or losing herself.

            Time, that is all Leliana needs.  Time to consider their relationship, and time to consider herself.  When she is ready, then she will return to their shared quarters, either for a final time or content in the knowledge that she need not worry about being unworthy any longer.

            There is time enough for this, surely.

            iii.

            Josephine is alive.  Josephine is alive, and that is what bothers her.  Not the sentence itself, but the phrase which she now realizes follows: Josephine is alive—for now.  Long life, by virtue of the number of words she has with which to speak, is always something that she has taken for granted.  Even when she felt her lifespan diminish, Josephine found that she could not change anything for she was so certain that nothing would befall her, even knowing, as she does thanks to Leliana's experiences, that a well-placed blade can alter fate.

            After Haven, Josephine was afraid, but even so her fear was more abstract—a fear of the future, of the possible failure of their mission, of the consequences of such.  Never, specifically, a fear of her own death, which might come at any moment.  It is easy to forget, ensconced as she is in ceremony, always thinking of the ramifications of her actions in some distant future, that she herself is limited to the here and now, that she will not live to see many of her plans come to fruition.

            Before, when she thought that she was dying, she did little to alter her course of action, for her death was a foregone conclusion and she had not the time to make arrangements, but now, knowing that she has time and knowing that that might change at any moment, she finds herself considering her future.  Perhaps the natural response to fully realizing one's mortality is anger, or grief, but Josephine experiences neither, or if she does they are so tempered by feelings of purpose that she does not notice them.  Instead, Josephine merely feels compelled to deal with her inevitable death responsibly.

            With little left to do in the final weeks of preparation for the fight with Corypheus, having already done all that she can to muster support and resources, Josephine finds her spare hours consumed with the writing of her will, guaranteeing that her legacy, the fruits of her labor, will not be lost when she dies.  Even with her family's trading status secured, their position is still precarious enough that her untimely death would be potentially disastrous, so she works to lay out a means of consolidation of their assets following her death, and vows that if she still lives in five years she shall update it, such that it is always current and useful for her family.

            Next, she writes letters, to be read upon the event of her death.  Some of them are more practical, such as the one for Antoine, who stands to inherit after her, detailing all of the machinations, political and economic, she has in place, and what should be done to ensure her plans are realized.  Other letters are purely sentimental, such as the one she writes to Yvette, which she hopes will say all the things she never has, will express how much she loves her sister, for all of their differences.  Josephine writes, and writes, and writes, until she comes to the last of the letters, there she cannot find the words to express how she feels.

            One letter she has dedicated already to both Leliana and Cassandra, in the hopes that should they survive her they shall not be parted from one another, and one letter she has dedicated to Leliana alone, urging her towards the lightness inside her, towards the good Josephine knows she can accomplish, but there is no letter yet for Cassandra alone.  What can Josephine say to such a one as she?  By virtue of Cassandra's straightforward, somewhat taciturn nature, no letter could ever suffice.  She has no words for Cassandra, who is a woman of action.

            Ultimately, she does not try, and hopes that Cassandra will understand.

 

XII.

            i.

            On the night before Cassandra leaves on a mission, Josephine always makes love to her, and does so entirely without speaking.  Sometimes, Leliana joins them, and sometimes she does not, because she is busy, or off somewhere herself, or not in the mood for the particular gentleness of the sex that always happens on this night.  Leliana is not particularly inclined towards gentle sex, Cassandra has noticed.  Of course, neither is Josephine, but there is something in Cassandra's leaving that always changes her.  Perhaps, like Cassandra, she fears the feeling of helplessness that accompanies a loved one in danger, or perhaps she senses that even now Cassandra feels nervous on the eve of riding out, when there is nothing left for her to do.  Regardless of her motive, the silence has become ritual.

            This night is no different.  Cassandra has seen neither hide nor hair of Josephine or Leliana all week, the three of them having been quite occupied by various preparations for the upcoming battle, but on this last night, returning to their quarters, Cassandra finds Josephine already waiting.  Long, quick fingers, soft and smooth save for a single pen callous, help to divest of Cassandra of her armor as Josephine presses a deep kiss to her lips, as if reminding herself that Cassandra is there, solid weight beneath her mouth.  Cassandra kisses back, only slightly less urgently, and not for the first time wonders what it is that passes through Josephine's mind on nights such as this.  Afterwards, she never thinks to ask, and she dare not break the silence of the moment.

            For all that the scene is familiar, there is a change in Josephine tonight, an urgency that is not usually present.  She is no less gentle, but she moves with purpose and not as languidly as she usually would on a night such as this.  Instead, Cassandra finds herself on her back practically before she can register the change, and from there everything is a blur of sensation, deft fingers which pull her braid loose, a tongue teasing at the dip in her left collarbone where she had broken it years before, a soft thigh slipped between her own, pressing up against her.

            She need not say anything at all.

            ii.

            On the night before the Inquisition's forces are to leave to face Corypheus, Leliana is not with Josephine and Cassandra, instead she is praying.  Not for the lives of their soldiers, nor for their success, but for herself.  Selfishly, she prays that she will have the strength to do what she must, prays that the Maker will guide her on the right path, prays that she will choose correctly.  After her time spent in contemplation, Leliana has at last reached the conclusion that she is able to temper herself enough to be in a relationship with Josephine and Cassandra, has made the choice to try, to go through with her plan.  Now she only prays that she has the strength to choose so every time.  Much like love, her resolution is one that must be chosen, again and again, she must be ever aware of what she has decided.  And she has decided, now, she is going to be sure to think before she acts, to work to respect the wishes of her partners, to not overstep the bounds they set for her, even when a lifetime of training demands that she do otherwise.

            But before she goes to them, she must pray.  Much as she may have come to regret decisions made under the direction of Justinia, Leliana knows that The Maker himself never guided her astray, that when she has followed the teachings of Andraste she has done right.  The Chant itself will guide her, will fortify her, and if after its recitation she remains sure, if she does not falter in the speaking of it, then she will know that she has made the right choice.  Though she knows it will be nearly dawn when she finishes, Leliana begins the Canticle of Trials.

            There will be time enough for her to be with Cassandra and Josephine later.

            iii.

            Lying in Cassandra's arms, hearing the strong, steady heartbeat deep in her chest, Josephine is at last satisfied.  Tomorrow she will worry, and the day after, and the next, until at last Cassandra returns to her, but for now she has everything she could ask for, has no reason to worry for Cassandra's safety, can feel her vitality.  Josephine does not speak, cannot, on nights such as this, partly for fear that when she does so she will feel the character of the words they shared diminished, will know Cassandra will not return to her, and partly because she knows that if she did she would beg Cassandra to stay, to be here with her where it was safe, to not risk herself, and she knows that she must let Cassandra go, that it would be unfair to pressure her to stay when she entered into this relationship knowing what it is that Cassandra does.  Knowing such does not make things any easier for her, however, and so she stays silent.

            Like this, wrapped in one another and the sheets of their bed, it is impossible to say how much time passes by, but the sun has long since set and Leliana has yet to make an appearance.  When she does not wish to join in the pre-leaving ritual they have established, Leliana often comes in late, but even now it seems that she has been longer than usual.  Josephine wonders where she is, but the silence is so fragile that she worries that if she says but a single word then the dam will be broken and all of her anxieties will come bursting forth.   She must content herself with the moment, with the gentle rise and fall of Cassandra's chest beneath her head, with the warmth of skin on skin, with the scent of her love.  When Cassandra is gone, she will revisit this moment of perfect contentment, and she will not let it be marred with worry.  It would be unfair to demand Leliana be here to partake in a ritual that is for her benefit alone.

            And here and now, Cassandra is enough for her.

 

XIII.

            i.

            Cassandra wakes before the dawn, a tightness in her lungs, heart pounding.  She remembers not what she dreamed, but she thinks it must have been terrible for her to be shaking so.  But she did not cry out, must not have been tossing in her sleep, for Josephine still lies half atop her, utterly unaware that anything may be wrong.  Perhaps, then, she should conclude that it cannot have been that bad, if she could sleep so close to someone without her anxiety spilling over, but instead Cassandra just feels terribly alone, as if the closeness of a few hours previous has been erased.  That they could be so close one moment but be living such different lives the next scares her, and she knows that if she woke Josephine, if she spoke of this, she could feel better, but the peace Josephine feels now is so fragile compared to the worry to come, and she cannot bring herself to ruin that.

            Were Leliana here, Cassandra would wake her, but she is absent, has yet to come to bed.  Sometimes, Leliana longs for solitude, and Cassandra thinks now that she understands this, understands Leliana's fear of giving herself fully, of letting the lines between her being and another blur.  Such a connection is what Cassandra has always longed for, but she knows that if she did not allow herself to do so then in times such as this she might not feel so alone, would still be used to calming herself as she was in her many years alone.

            But how can she go back to the way things were, now that she has had a taste of what it is to give herself fully?  Now that she has given all of herself to Josephine and to Leliana, how can she take that back?  And why would she?  She is happy, truly.  More so than she has ever been.  Changed, but happy, and that thought is enough to calm her, to soothe her back to sleep.

            There was no need for her to say a word.

            ii.

            The sky is just beginning to change when Leliana at last finishes the Canticle of Trials, there is no light yet, for the sun rises strangely in the mountains, a grey glow spreading throughout the sky long before there is true light.  Without once stumbling, she recited the entire Canticle, and though she is bone tired now that she has finished, her thoughts never strayed from her purpose while she prayed, voice light as citrus the entire time, words never growing thick with honey, tripping her tongue.  The Maker has smiled upon her prayer, she could feel his presence as she spoke.

            If ever a thing were meant to be, it is her relationship with Josephine and Cassandra.  She thinks that on some level, she has known this, has felt the rightness, would not be willing to change her own habits such for any others, would not have seen the value in such, but it is quite another thing to affirm such through prayer.  Never has Andraste lead her astray, and her work for the Chantry is what has brought her here, into Josephine and Cassandra's arms.  This, what the three of them have between them, is right, is as it should be, the light in a dark world.

            So affirmed, Leliana returns to their shared quarters.  At this hour, she knows that Cassandra and Josephine will be asleep, will not know of her return until they themselves wake, but she is certain now that they can discuss this at length when Cassandra returns from facing Corypheus, that there is no need to rush or to worry.  Something so good cannot be corrupted, she must have faith that things will work out for the best.

            When Cassandra returns, the three of them can begin to discuss the future.  For now, they can share a bed in silence.

            iii.

            Unfortunately, Josephine has never been a heavy sleeper.  Whenever Cassandra rises at dawn to train, or Leliana is roused by a messenger in the middle of the night, Josephine wakes too.  But on mornings such as this, when Cassandra rises to leave on a mission rather than to train, Josephine is thankful.  She would not want to miss her leaving, would not like to miss the chance to see her love one last time.

            She is, however, exhausted, on this particular morning.  Cassandra woke sometime in the night, and although she did not think she roused Josephine, although no words were exchanged, Josephine listened as her heartbeat slowed to normal, and then as her breaths came slower and she drifted to sleep, and when some half an hour later Leliana returned to bed, that kept Josephine awake too.  She was thankful for the chance to have both of her lovers beside her, content to listen to them breathe without speaking to either.

            Perhaps that is why, when Cassandra rises, dresses, and prepares to leave, Josephine says nothing.  Is why she is content merely to watch her love as she leaves, allowing herself only a small smile as Cassandra kisses her forehead before leaving the room.

            It is not until she wakes again, properly, that she realizes she did not say a proper goodbye.

            It is not until the letter arrives that she realizes she and Cassandra had not spoken properly in a week.


End file.
